Allegiance
by LovelyLittleFreckle
Summary: Liz and Red end up in Ireland trying to escape their complicated individual circumstances. But complications arise when they realize they can't hide from the issues plaguing them at home. Eventual Lizzington. I own nothing. Sorry - momentary glitch with chapter 7 should be fixed now! Please be sure to review!
1. Chapter 1

Over the last few months, Liz had adapted to the general feeling of unease that accompanied having one's life turned upside down. If there was a silver lining now, it was this: she didn't have to try to deal with it in that house. Trying to slip carefully into bed without disturbing Tom was hard enough without having to suppress tears… some nights, sobbing. Between her distrust of her husband, the deliberating over the baby and worrying about the various aspects of her job, she was tapped out when she came home every night. And she hadn't been able to truly trust Tom since she found the box, even though she'd tried to explain it away many times. Now that the words _"This is broken" _were out of her mouth she wouldn't have to feel like a fraud every time she looked at the crib or let Tom pour her coffee.

For the first time in months, she was able to drown it all out in a sea of comfortable noise. She loved the sound of crowded restaurants and right now it felt like home. Like Nebraska. Like Sam. When she was young, every Thursday he would pick her up from school and instead of taking her home like usual, he would take her to the diner down the street and let her order whatever she wanted. She would spread out her homework on the big table, working around glasses of milk, and later coffee, explaining to Sam what she'd learned in school that day.

"You're gonna end up smarter than your old man, Butterball," he'd say.

The sound of silverware clanging in metal sinks and gurgling coffee machines soothed her while she settled into her booth. She was situating her suitcase under her table when she saw her phone light up. A new email: hotel confirmation. She had a couple of hours before check in; just enough time to catch up on a couple chapters of her book and get a few cups of coffee.

"Are you gonna want anything to eat?" the waitress asked, pulling a pen from behind her ear.

She suddenly realized the last thing she'd eaten was a donut that morning. After leaving the house with her suitcase, she had plied Aram with a dozen of them so he would turn off the motion detectors to her office, allowing her to sleep for a few hours under her desk before anyone else arrived.

"Yeah, burger and fries. And um… pie. Any kind," she said.

Her phone lit up again – this time a call. Nick's Pizza. Even through an exasperated sigh, she nervously fumbled with her phone to swipe "answer".

"What can I do for you?" she said.

"That's interesting, I could ask you the same thing," a low voice rasped from the other end.

"Excuse me?"

"I wonder what made you think that I wouldn't see you walk up to the door of my building twenty minutes ago and then walk away. Let's hope your undercover skills are better when the stakes are higher."

_Goddamn it. Street facing window – how did I forget that? _Liz thought, squeezing her eyes shut in embarrassment.

"I um… I'm sorry, I just decided not to trouble you."

"Speaking of not troubling me, the next time you are in search of a rolling briefcase how about you call me. I have a friend in-…"

"It's not a briefcase," she said, interrupting him. There was a brief moment of hesitation on the other line. He'd figured out it was a suitcase.

"Where are you?" he asked.

"I'm at The Bulletin."

_Click._

She took several deep breaths. She'd planned on telling him but she should have known that he wouldn't allow her to do it on her terms. He'd come steamrolling through her life like he always did. She tried her best to relax, letting her shoulders droop and her neck crack. _Think happy thoughts, Liz._ _Disneyland at Christmastime. Sunday cartoons and cereal. Wine on the terrace._

She snapped out of it at the sound of a porcelain plate scraping along the table in front of her.

"Anything else I can get you?" the waitress asked. "More coffee?" Liz nodded eagerly.

As she ate she realized she hadn't eaten anything but Chinese food in days. She had been bringing it home as a peace offering, half the time finding Tom asleep or most recently not even home. But it was preferable to eating a meal while deflecting questions about adoption, accusations about the dangers of her job, guilt about what Tom felt was his "safety". Between Tom's pressure at dinner and Ressler's complaining about Audrey during lunch, she hadn't had an enjoyable meal by herself in a while. And this one was about to be interrupted.

She heard the jingling of the bell attached to the door and she sensed Red's calm yet intense energy boring a hole into her immediately. She looked up from her plate just enough to see him slip into the booth across from her, shedding a jacket indiscriminately but treating his hat with much more care. Dembe walked past and sat at a nearby table.

"Dembe knows that he can eat with us, right?" Liz asked, avoiding Red's eyes and making brief and, as usual, uncomfortable eye contact with Dembe.

"Tell me what happened," Red asked, not demanding but searching.

"I'm starving, can your interrogation wait?"

"That explains your order. Good god, Lizzie, they have mulligatawny soup here, the best I've had in the states. Did you even look at the menu?"

She scowled at him and he flashed her a pinched, impatient smile. Mercifully the waitress came over to take his order.

"I'll have a cup of coffee," he said politely but dismissively.

"Oh really, Mr. Soup of the Day?" Liz sniped at him.

"I'll have a cup of mulligatawny," he said, finally looking at the waitress. She smiled back at him, taking Liz's freshly cleared plate.

"I am assuming from your luggage that you had an unpleasant discussion with Tom?" Liz expected to find the hint of a smug smile on his face but she didn't find one. His concern seemed genuine.

"I told Tom that I was not ready to adopt a child with him and that I think that our marriage is broken," she said trying to keep it as succinct as possible. If he wanted to know more he was going to have to work for it.

"I'm guessing he did not have the same opinion on the situation?"

"He did not," Liz said. "He was… crushed. He really wanted to be a father."

"Lizzie, a man who cannot understand his wife is in no way prepared to understand a mother or a child," Red said speaking slowly and deliberately. She knew this, but it was the realization of how long she'd really known it that made her eyes start to sting with tears. She had been wholeheartedly ready to be a mother… and now that opportunity had slipped away from her. She had convinced herself that being a mother would win out over her hesitation about Tom's innocence; in hindsight she couldn't believe now selfish she'd been.

"I really thought it was going to work out. I had no reservations until recently, his demeanor just changed," she said, her voice cracking under the weight of her forming tears.

"Let me guess, the more you uncovered, the more he tried to isolate you? Maybe not sympathizing about your job anymore… convincing you to move away from friends and loved ones?"

She remembered how proud Tom had been on her first day on the job, how understanding he had been when she had to cancel their meeting. Even after he was attacked, he would always acknowledge that it had been the two of them going through it together. Increasingly he had become more moody when she would show up late from work. There was the talk of Nebraska. The judgment about the job she was so passionate about. _The bad things that happen, they come from what you do, not from what I do!_

Liz felt a tear slide down her cheek and she watched as Red's eyes followed its trail from her eye to the corner of her lip. She felt naked under his gaze, exposed in a way that made her feel like hiding. Forever. She didn't like how he seemed to know her.

"Lizzie, I hate to see you upset," he said, watching her compulsively rub her scar. He reached out and took her hand, but the visible clenching of his jaw gave away a momentary lack of confidence. The narrowing of his eyes let her know that he was expecting to be rebuffed and she didn't have the heart to do it. He ran his thumb over the hardened skin of her scar; she watched his eyes turn from distant to kind. It gave her a moment to notice just how drawn and weary he looked while he worked the muscles of her hand with his thumb, coaxing it flat.

"I would feel better if you stayed with me," Red said. She returned her hand to her side of the table.

"I'm sure that would look great to the surveillance team following me from the bureau."

"I have brought down entire governments, you don't think I can give a van full of government employees the slip? You don't think I did it on the way here?" he let out a shallow laugh. "Have you forgotten how it is we came to work together?"

"No, I have not but I am having trouble remembering _why_ we are working together because you have not seen fit to tell me," she said through gritted teeth, setting about stroking her scar again.

"How about we go back to my place and I will tell you over a bottle of wine," he said, his voice oozing with charm.

"I'm not falling for that, Red. If you are so concerned, I will be staying at the Residence Inn. That's all you get," she said. She fished a twenty dollar bill out of her wallet and placed it on the table, reaching for her coat.

"You aren't concerned that Tom's connections will find you before I can?" he said.

"You aren't going to threaten me into staying with you," she said, staring him down. When he blinked under her glare, she gathered her things.

"I'd appreciate it if you trusted me this time, Lizzie," he said.

"It's not a smart idea, you know that. If I stay with you I won't have a job to go back to, I'm supposed to be turning you in. If you want to keep working together, I need to keep me job."

"You don't," he said.

"Funny that sounds familiar," she said with a bit more anger than she had intended. "Goodbye, Red,"


	2. Chapter 2

A person could stay in a five star hotel and still not get decent sleep under these conditions. As it was, Liz was rattled from Red's offer to stay with him, but on top of that, there was the faucet dripping. There was the scratch of that asinine blanket between the sheet and the comforter that seemed to serve no purpose except to look pilled and dingy and remind you that you aren't at home. And why were they always mauve? She didn't dare turn on Netflix for fear that it would give her some hint as to what Tom was doing… or vice versa. If he'd watched any shows it would make her feel homesick for not watching them with him. If he hadn't watched anything it begged the question _"What is he doing instead?" _and she wasn't ready to swim toward that maelstrom of paranoia.

The fluorescent lights were oppressive but, then, so was the darkness. If she wasn't going to sleep, she decided to at least keep her eyes closed, not letting the neon numbers of the clock radio sear themselves onto her retinas. Yet behind her eyelids, there they were – a ghost of 3:30am appearing, floating… disappearing.

Drifting off into an unsatisfying sleep, she dreamt the unsettling dreams that always seemed to replay in times like these. Crumbling teeth. Freefalling. Searching for keys. She remembered the elective she'd taken on dream interpretation when finishing her psychology undergrad. The teeth were about a lack of stability, fear of change. The free fall was about insecurity, anxiety. The searching was about something missing in your life. It would have been less frustrating if she hadn't known exactly what it each one was really about anyway.

Finally at 5:30am she felt justified in waking up for the day. The shower was impossible to temperature regulate, but the towels were soft and floral scented. It was pleasant but it wasn't home. The office was going to have to be home for now.

As she was swiping her badge, waiting for the now-welcoming cement of the post office, her phone rang. Her ringtone of the chorus to Beck's "Loser" was starting to give her anxiety purely on a Pavlovian basis.

"Ressler, I'm literally 10 feet away from you," she said as the doors opened, speaking to the back of his blonde, perfectly styled head.

"You'd better hope you are because Cooper needs you to report to him ASAP."

"What? Why?"

"Don't play stupid, Keen. And change my goddamn ringtone," he said with that schoolboy sneer that let her know he had one up on her. It was rare to see these days since they were becoming close, but it was the reason for the ringtone and he knew it.

She craned her neck to look into the glass partition in Cooper's door. Knowing that Ressler wasn't going to be of any help given his current demeanor, she straightened her jacket.

"How do I look?" she asked.

"You look like you slept for two hours in a traincar next to a drifter."

"Residence Inn… not far off," she said. She softened a bit at his chuckle. She looked at her watch – fifteen minutes late. _Stupid traffic._ That had to be what this was about.

Striding with as much rehearsed confidence as she could muster, she rapped the window in a staccato beat and swung the door open. Cooper acknowledged her with only his eyebrow and before she could greet him, she was greeted herself by a velvety voice.

"Lizzie, how nice to see you."

The ground swelled under her. She couldn't conceal her surprise, which did her some favors. Cooper didn't know how long she had already been in touch with Red before this moment and she didn't need any reason for him to think so. She felt her mouth hanging open and closed it, mentally trying to regain her footing. She couldn't speak, she only stared at him. His hat was hanging tilted off his knee, crossed over the other; he was relaxed. His smile, that _shit eating grin,_ made her want to run and hide. That naked feeling again.

"Agent Keen, Reddington came in this morning to offer his services to us. Again. After refusing to contact us for three weeks," Cooper started, obviously speaking to both of them.

"Harold, as I was telling you I need Agent Keen's help with a job I am being tasked with in Europe-…" Red began.

Cooper interrupted, "First I expect you to explain to me where the hell you've been for the past three weeks. I am not authorizing Keen to do anything until-".

"You two will not talk about me as though I am not in the room," Liz said flatly. "Why don't you tell me what's going on. Are you seriously just letting him come back to work? Why don't we start there?"

"Agent Keen, as far as I'm concerned we are in no different position than we were in before. During the incursion it was clear that someone on our team was involved in the operation and it was our lack of diligence that resulted in us bringing him here. Despite there being a leak on Reddington's end, it seems as though the bureau bears most of the blame. So, as long as there are legitimate criminals being offered up, our hands are tied, as far as I'm concerned."

"And how does that change him being number four on the most wanted list for the better part of a month? How did he even get in?"

"Walked in just like he did before. With the same leverage as before. I don't like it but we can't take the chance on allowing an international incident to occur by not working with him. You'll find the situation sounds familiar," he said.

"Now who's being spoken about as if they aren't in the room?" Red said. Liz shot him a look that Tom used to refer to as "The Widowmaker".

Red smiled up at her, smug and penetrating. He was telling her with his eyes that she should go along with what was being proposed, but Liz was not ready to grant him that favor. Not yet. Not when it meant _traveling_ with him and getting herself trapped deeper into his web. Until his value dropped where the department was concerned, Liz was a lamb for slaughter; the incursion had only served to gain him credibility. The bureau now seemed to owe him a favor.

"Don't you need to get Fowler's OK on this?" Liz asked, looking at Cooper.

Red interrupted with a swiftness that seemed to drop the temperature in the room. He was no longer willing to rib good-naturedly, this was now a business transaction.

"Agent Cooper, I'm afraid there's no time. My contact is prepared to make a drop worth about twenty five million dollars and thousands of American lives in only a few hours and we'll be dealing with a headwind." His voice dropped significantly into what Liz recognized as his more persuasive register. Why was he so desperate all of a sudden? She knew the transatlantic headwind went the other way – he was desperate if he was assuming that Cooper would overlook it.

"You don't seriously expect me to go over the head of the director of the Justice Department and put an agent on your plane. How do I explain that once you're over the Atlantic?"

"You don't," Red said, leaning closer. "As far as Diane is concerned, I am still missing and Agent Keen is still on maternity leave. I cannot impress upon you the importance of getting this shipment intercepted Agent Cooper. It's the reason I returned and I can assure you that it was with a great deal of trepidation about my own safety as you can imagine. It cannot wait on whatever red tape Diane uses to save face." Liz felt a static sensation emanating from Red – it wasn't a job, he was in personal danger. He was going to need her help.

"You can fit me with a chip," Liz said, surprised to hear the words come out of her own mouth. "Red needs a new chip anyway if he's going to be dealing with the agency, fit me with one too. If I'm that integral to completing this mission, I'm willing to do what it takes sir."

"Agent Keen?" Cooper looked shocked.

"If this is as time-sensitive as he says we need to move quickly and frankly he hasn't been wrong yet. We can't afford the gamble if the stakes are American lives. He wasn't wrong when we brought him to the black site and a group of terrorists came in here with guns. We didn't listen and we all know what happened as a result. If it's a matter of my security I am happy being outfitted with a chip and we can proceed. I trust the bureau to monitor this closely as usual – I feel that it's the best move."

Red's shoulders seemed to relax imperceptibly as she spoke. Agent Cooper took off his glasses and sighed heavily, finally resting his eyes on Liz.

"Keen, I expect you to be contacting the bureau frequently with updates. I realize this is time sensitive, but you are going to need to call me once you get there to brief me on the situation. If I don't hear from you in exactly 12 hours I will send in an extraction crew for you. And only for you. Red, if this goes south you are completely on your own. I trust you're savvy enough to know you have a good deal and not to compromise it."

"Cooper I'd thank you if you weren't the one getting the better end of this deal. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. For you. On a voluntary basis," Red said, his voice regaining its normal timbre. "Agent Keen let's get our tracking devices – we'll get you provisions when we arrive at our destination."

Liz almost didn't wait the three necessary seconds to clear Cooper's door before interrogating Red herself, but she never got the chance to start. Ressler had been waiting for them outside the door like a hall monitor who noticed someone spending too long in the bathroom.

"Keen, Reddington, where do you think you're going?" Ressler asked.

"All these questions… Agent Ressler, calm down. The vein in your forehead is telling me that your blood pressure will lead you to an early grave if you don't start trusting me," Red said, jovially. Liz wondered exactly how many times he could change his tone and approach within a five minute span when it suited his needs.

"Ressler, I'll call you within the next 12 hours. I'm getting a chip, I'll let you know the tracking information," she said. He looked stricken, just in time for the elevator to ding its arrival.

The doors closed with a thud and Liz immediately cornered Red, her finger digging accusatorially into his chest.

"You answer me. Now."

"What's the question?" he said, looking down at her finger as if it were as inconsequential as a stray thread and just as intrusive. He was calm. Collected. She could tell because his heart was beating slowly yet steadily under her fingertip.

"If you play stupid with me, this is going to be a long fucking trip," she said through her teeth.

"Is the cursing necessary?" he asked, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head like a dog hearing a high pitch.

"Quite. Where am I going, Red?"

"Let's just say if you intend to keep using that language you'll be right at home. How do you feel about Jameson whiskey?"


	3. Chapter 3

Liz ran her fingers gingerly over the sore spot in her neck; when the pain subsided, she was able to feel the tiny chip floating under her finger. She winced, pulling her face into a grimace that she directed at Red who was sitting casually across from her in his seat that more closely resembled a plush, white recliner. The plane smelled like leather and the clinical smell of machinery - metallic and sterile.

"The chip hurts," Liz growled, accusatorially.

"It's always a little rough the first time," Red replied.

"Is there ever a second?"

"Ideally, no. The complicated part comes when you have to pull it out on your own."

"I'm not going to be pulling it out."

He raised his eyebrow at her, cocking his head in a manner that seemed to say _You never know._

He was anxious – he had been since this morning, although it had been more subtle then. Liz was beginning to learn his "tells" even though he was nearly sociopathic in his calm nature under pressure. It was only the little things that gave him away, like most good criminals. The muscle under his left eye twitched just slightly, involuntarily. The corners of his mouth would become tense, drawing themselves into an exaggerated, emotionless frown. His jaw muscles pulsated rhythmically as he ground his teeth.

"What got you so anxious when Fowler's name got mentioned?" she said, settling back in her seat as the engines began to rumble. She could see his toe tapping up and down only slightly under the leather of his shoe.

"Nervous?" he said, looking out the window. She watched his chest – he was holding his breath.

"Repeating the question – clear sign someone is lying. Are you about to lie to me?" she said.

The rumbling of the engines intensified and she watched as his neck craned to look out the window. She felt herself forced back into her seat as the plane sped down the runway.

"You haven't even told me where I'm going. Why am I here? Answer me!" she said, as the engine became louder, her desperation grew as she envisioned the ground getting farther away. He casually put his hand behind his ear and shrugged, motioning that he couldn't hear her. He smiled, looking away from the window and into her eyes for only a moment. It was subtle… but there was panic there. She felt her body shift backwards as his shifted forward, the plane lifting off into the air. Still he looked intently out the window until she noticed the blue of water out the window. He settled back, the engine noise subsiding.

"Diane Fowler is dead," Red said matter-of-factly, settling back into his seat. He reached for his sweating glass of whiskey, tinkling the ice against the glass as he took a sip, his body slipping into relaxation.

"She's… what? How? Does Cooper know?!" she felt her voice become dangerously close to a shriek. A wave of cold overcame her as a tingling sweat sprouted on her face, her chest, her neck. She could feel the thrum of her jumping heartbeat threatening to unsettle the newly placed chip. He had been nervous that she would abandon him upon that news… he was waiting for the plane to get in the air so she'd be trapped. Helpless.

"She's dead. I shot her last night in her apartment," he said, his voice cold but casual.

"You. Did. What." Her voice became a strangled wail. Ridiculously and irrationally, she began to look for the exits.

"In the last week I have killed nine people. The ambulance driver from the incursion was the first, you may remember her. She was beautiful… she had that friendly face?" he waited for a look of recognition from Liz and found only the blank look of terror. He pressed on. "The second was a man running surveillance on your house. The third, a doctor who helped Garrick torture me. Three were innocent bystanders in the way of one of Garrick's associates – also dead. Newton Phillips. And then, last night Diane Fowler."

Liz gripped her armrests, finding it hard to gain purchase with the copious amount of nervous sweat forming on her palms. The corners of her vision began to blur to black. She was on a plane with a man who had just gone on a killing spree that, at the moment, created no pattern for her. She could feel her pulse in every inch of her body, shaking her into near sea sickness.

"Please explain to me why," she said, choking back her fear.

"Anyone who had anything to do with the incursion needed to be eliminated, that is how I do business. The ambulance driver and doctor were hired help and, somewhat unfortunately, were not necessarily bad people. The surveillance… that should be obvious as he was watching you in your home for months and gave away the location of the Post Office. Newton Phillips, you may remember, was the man with me in my apartment when you came to visit. They got to his family, used them as leverage and turned him against me. He was a lifelong friend and confidant, the perfect target to be bought. Diane Fowler, with a little help, was our mole at the state department."

"You expect me to believe that she infiltrated her own black site."

"She hired our friend Agent Malik to release the schematics of the black site to various security consultants, ostensibly, to have them find any potential holes in the security systems. One of them was not a consultant but one of the many parties who might want me dead and might be willing to pay her a handsome fee for her services. They, in turn, hired Garrick to carry out the mission."

"So there were several moles?"

"Yes, and all of them dead."

"So why are you running, why do you need me?"

"I wouldn't call it running. After taking care of the business around Luli's death and taking care of those responsible, I'm in need of what they used to refer in the Marines as R&R. And so are you, what with Tom finally being off your back. You need to clear your head, Lizzie."

"You're doing an excellent job clearing my head," she said, speaking in furious but careful measure. "You just informed me you've killed nine people, one of which is… or.. _was_ my _boss's_ boss. Now you're on _vacation_, you've got me with you and I have a tracking device in my neck. Not to mention that we have been expected to come back with a high value criminal."

"The signal from the chip in your neck is being intercepted by my people. Cooper currently thinks we're headed to Seattle, where eventually we will go to pick up said criminal, who is being closely monitored by my associates."

"You're outsourcing the take down of your own target."

"Outsourcing. Delegating. The phrasing depends on what side of the board room table you're sitting on."

"What do I tell Cooper when he calls?" she asked, feeling crushed under the weight of the lie being set out for her.

"We will cross that bridge when we come to it," Red said. "For now, let's enjoy the view."

"The only thing you can see is the Atlantic Ocean. Certainly after divulging all that information you can tell me where it is that we're going."

"A friend of mine owns a bed and breakfast in Galway, it's a fishing village on the coast of Ireland. I thought it might be nice to spend a few days there."

"You thought it would be nice," Liz repeated.

"Well I _know_ it's going to be nice, but it's just a matter of how much you enjoy scenic tourism and good beer."

Liz sighed. Her gaze wandered idly to her lap. _Think, Liz. You can sort this out. No, Cooper thinks you're in Seattle that's going to go sideways._

"Lizzie," his velvety voice made her look up. "I make a living doing this. A good one. You need to trust me."

"How do you know they won't find you? Find you guilty of murdering all those people… of murdering Fowler!"

"I have killed higher placed entities than Diane Fowler. I am too valuable – I am worth more to them as an asset than I am a trophy for their wall, thus the basis of our entire arrangement. This changes nothing."

"What if they find out that you're intercepting the signal?"

"I have allowed an associate to run off with a bomb in front of their eyes. I have slipped out of their grasp nearly every chance I've gotten. And each time I have come back. Each time with a new target of high enough value that they can't turn me down. They don't expect me to stick to the plan to begin with – Cooper will see eventually that he doesn't need me to. Let's call this another opportunity to prove that to him."

Liz let the reality of his words sink in. Raymond Reddington was untouchable. At the end of the day, it was the FBI who worked for him, not the other way around. She felt helpless relaxation, like a cat being picked up by the scruff of its neck. There was nothing she could do now; she was completely at his mercy. Even if she wanted to give him up to Cooper… which really she didn't… it would compromise her safety, wouldn't it? Strangely it didn't scare her and she let herself give in. The rumble of the plane engine under her settled her nerves and she burrowed herself deeper into the soft leather of the chair. She had to admit, the idea of being an entire ocean away from Tom made her want to cry tears of relief and gratitude. She was safe with Red. Despite all his deception, she was convinced he would look out for her… maybe _only_ her.

"Were you going to offer me a glass of that, or is some friend of yours going to come by with a cart?" Liz asked, allowing herself the ghost of a smile as she gestured at his glass. Red chuckled in his rich, bold growl and reached for the bottle and a glass. She watched his hands as he made a generous pour over frosty, perfectly formed ice cubes. She'd never noticed before how strong his hands looked with their long, sturdy fingers and pronounced, delicate tendons. For a brief moment the images of them closed around a windpipe, squeezing the trigger of a gun, forming treacherous fists floated into and then easily out of her head. He smiled as he noticed her watching him.

"Cheers, Lizzie. Welcome aboard."

"Cheers," she said, raising the glass to her lips and taking a long drink.

"Relax… you need rest," he said soothingly, reclining his own seat.

And before she knew it she was reclined in her own, drifting off under his protective gaze.


	4. Chapter 4

It occurred to Liz as she watched her knuckles go white around the interior door handle that it may have been years since Red had actually driven a car himself. _Relax, Liz, relax. _She watched his lips draw up into a crooked, roguish smile as the car rumbled with acceleration.

"You have to be going at least 70 miles an hour around these turns, slow _down_," she said, allowing her tone to enter a nagging range.

"It's the kilometers we worry about over here," Red said.

"How about _you_ worry about us ending up in a _ditch_."

She felt her phone buzzing against her thigh, shoved deep into her pocket. Ressler's ringtone filled the car with a sudden and jarring noise. "_I'm a loser baby… so why don't you kill me…"_

"Agent Keen," Liz answered, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Don't act like you're answering a pay phone, Keen. You know who this is," Ressler said, sounding hushed.

"Wow, calm down Captain Rage," she said. Red mouthed the question "_Ressler_?" and she nodded in return.

"I know damn well you're not in Seattle, where are you?"

Liz felt her skin prickle with a cold, nervous sweat. She looked at Red, hoping for guidance but he was too busy, focused on taking the turns at top speed with a wild but controlled unblinking stare.

"What the hell are you talking about Ressler?"

"Don't play stupid. Aram knows the signal is being scrambled," he said.

"Who have you told?"

"It's just me and Aram who know. I figured I'd call and let you explain yourself. Where are you and how long will you two be gone?"

She covered the mouthpiece of the phone.

"He wants to know where we are and how long we'll be gone," she whispered.

"Tell him you're in Ireland and that we will be here three days."

"…Are you sure?" she asked, searching his eyes for any hesitance.

"I'm sure."

"Ressler, Red has some business to attend to in Ireland. We'll be here for three days and then we will be in Seattle. He's not confident that Cooper will respect his need to protect his assets here after the incursion so he's had the signal scrambled while we investigate things. Can you please… _please_ cover for me for three days while we sort this out?"

The phone was silent on Ressler's end. She felt her heartbeat in her ears, and could hear the whoosh of the blood in her veins. She held her breath.

"Ressler?"

"You have three days, Keen. Three. I will tell Cooper you are in Seattle as long as you call me every 12 hours letting me know that you're safe. You know the distress code."

"I owe you a huge favor, Ressler."

"Oh, you do? Then change my fucking ringtone."

"You got it."

"Oh, and Keen? Tell Red to smoke a Cuban in the sun for me."

"What? What does that mean?"

"He'll know," he said "…Keen? Twelve hours." He hung up.

She stared at her phone in disbelief.

"What did Agent Ressler have to say?" Red asked, sounding unworried. Liz stared down at the phone, immediately starting to scroll through her ringtone settings.

"He's um… he's covering for us. As long as I check in every 12 hours he'll tell Cooper we're in Seattle."

"Very good," Red said, not sounding nearly as relieved as she felt he should have been.

"Oh, he told me to tell you to smoke a Cuban in the sun for him?"

Red smiled what seemed to be a rare, genuine smile. He shook his head, laughing. Liz didn't want to ask; clearly whatever that was about was between the two of them. It comforted her to know that Ressler had grown comfortable enough with him that they had an inside joke. She wondered when that could have happened. If he could make that kind of progress with Red, maybe anyone could.

Outside their window, the countryside became houses, then the houses became intermixed with little shops and pubs, all aging brick turning color under the still rising sun. It was early and there were only a few people on the streets. Delivery men dragging dollies stacked high with boxes, people in jackets bringing out carefully painted sandwich boards. It was beginning to drizzle and Red flipped the windshield wipers on and for a strange moment she felt like she could have been in DC.

"I was expecting more… green." Liz said.

"Everyone expects more green. Wait until this afternoon, they're calling for clear skies, we'll take the ferry out to the islands," he said.

"Islands?" she said.

Red looked at his watch. "We still have a couple of hours until we can check in. Are you hungry?"

"I'm starving. Air Reddington's transatlantic service didn't include a meal option, though I will say the bar was pretty impressive."

He abruptly pulled the car toward the curb in front of a gray brick building with red doors and hanging baskets of flowers. It was striking next to the rest of the storefronts. The black awning read in gold "The King's Head".

"This pub has been in operation for 800 years, one of the busiest in town and they make an Irish stew that will make you want to rip up your passport."

Liz was fumbling with her seatbelt when she realized Red had already gotten out of the car and was holding her door open for her. She rolled her eyes as she exited past him and got a few paces ahead to keep him from opening the restaurant door open for her as well. _I can't encourage any of this James Bond bullshit._

She led them to a table by the window, taking off her jacket and hanging it on the seat back.

"Lizzie, if we're going to be traveling together it's important that we look like our relationship is comfortable otherwise people are going to wonder."

"Let me guess… girlfriend from Ann Arbor?" she said, flipping open her menu, letting her gurgling stomach spur her into treating it like a treasure map.

"You can decide our cover, but you're going to have to do it quickly because the waitress is coming. I'll follow your lead but if you choose to pose as my girlfriend you are going to have to let me open doors and pull out chairs for you. I don't make the rules; that's just how a cover works."

"I graduated Quantico, I think I know how a cover works," she whispered harshly.

She felt another wave of panic come over her as a waitress approached their table, her heels sounding very important and authoritative on the wood floor.

"Good morning, welcome to The King's Head," she said. "Do you need a few minutes with the menu?"

Liz froze. _Just do it, Liz. Throw him a bone. _

"Go ahead and order for me, you know what I like," she said, smiling adoringly at Red. He smiled back, positively beaming. She knew her smile was for the waitress, but she got the distinct feeling his wasn't.

"We'll both be having the stew. And two cups of coffee please," he said.

She waited the long moment it took for the waitress to walk out of earshot and she swung her eyes back to Red's face.

"Quite convincing, Agent Keen," he said in a friendly but mocking tone. He hadn't called her "Agent Keen" without Cooper in the room since they met.

"How's this for convincing?" she challenged, reaching her hand across the table and placing it on top of his. "When you're hanging up my jacket, don't hang it on a hook it creates this peak in the fabric that sucks to try to get out, so just put it on the back of my chair. My lower back is ticklish, if you put your hand on my back I am liable to come out of my skin. And when in doubt, order me the cheeseburger." She ran her thumb over the peaks of his knuckles, smiling at him in an exaggerated manner that she hoped was convincing to the waitress who was looking over from the bar.

"First of all," he started in a low voice, turning her hand over lovingly, exposing her scar and leaning toward her. He was invading her sacred personal bubble of space for now the umpteenth time. "There is a strip on the neck of your jacket that is meant for hanging so that won't happen. I can't believe someone is just now explaining that to you. Second, what an odd place to be ticklish. Third, you're on vacation. I will order you all the cheeseburgers you want when we're back in the states."

"Funny, usually when I'm on vacation I don't have to assume a fake identity," she said.

"Seeing what happened the last time you went on a vacation with Tom, you should count yourself lucky," he said, cocking an eyebrow at her.

"_You_ are lucky that we are undercover right now, otherwise I would take that fork and shove it into your-…"

"Neck? Yes, I know your style," he said, pulling at his collar with his free hand, exposing the tiny circular scar she had left there. He knew how to win an argument.

"Speaking of style I'm picking out my own clothes," Liz said.

"Well, let's steer away from the olive then," Red said.

She squeezed his hand around the knuckles, knowing that the maneuver would be painful. He didn't so much as flinch.

"They're still teaching that in Quantico, I see," Red said, bringing her hand up to his face despite her lingering and unwavering death grip. Before she realized she would be trapped, she allowed herself to lock eyes with him. He raised her tensed hand to his lips and pressed a kiss into her knuckles. Her hand relaxed almost involuntarily around his and his lips warmed the thin skin of the back of her hand. The feel of his breath seemed to seep into her whole body. She was close enough she could smell the heavy yet sweet scent of the scotch from the plane, lingering on his breath.

"Oh good, coffee," Red said, resuming a normal speaking voice as the waitress approached with their cups.


	5. Chapter 5

_How in the hell did this happen, _Liz thought to herself, placing her hands on the cooling skin of her hips, alone in her room. Spread out in front of her were the purchases she'd made in the little stores up and down High Street. She remembered purchasing the jeans, the mute toned tank tops, the cardigans, the sensible walking shoes… but she certainly didn't remember the candy apple red satin dress or low-cut royal blue blouse. Never in her life had she owned a leather jacket, and yet here hung one on a hanger in the garment bag. And she could have sworn there were _two_ pairs of walking shoes, but one box looked decidedly fancier than the other. She lifted the lid knowing full well what she'd find. The nude pumps that Red had picked up and admired at the last store. _Son of a bitch._

Frustrated, she rustled through the plastic bag from Boots Pharmacy and took out her new toothbrush, hair brush, cosmetics and tiny travel sized toiletries. Some were familiar brands, but mostly the unfamiliar plastic bottles knocking against each other as she dumped them on the bed made her feel homesick. Despite Red settling into his room across the hall, she felt alone and uneasy. She'd been to Europe before but only for a few hours at a time for work - never to stay. And when she had traveled before, she was with coworkers, most of whom were good for easy conversation and some sense of home. The man across the hall, though chatty, wasn't nearly as warm; but he was, for now, her only companion. She was sure that he would probably listen to her talk for hours but trying to get information out of Red, let alone anything that felt companionable, felt as daunting as attempting to make conversation with a refrigerator. She knew next to nothing about him besides what she could discern from her attempts to profile him. Even then, she was as unsure as she had ever been about a person.

She put on the jeans with a light purple tank top, slipping a beige cardigan over her shoulders. It was clear to her that there was nothing that was going to be done about her hair until she could get a shower, so she brushed it haphazardly and put it in a ponytail. She began packing items into the little shoulder bag she bought, chapstick, billfold, the smallest and cheapest camera she had been able to find in the shops. She searched for her phone and before she could find it, it started ringing. The bed and breakfast was stone quiet and the tune carried more than she anticipated: Suit and Tie by Justin Timberlake. _Nick's Pizza._

Instead of answering the phone she simply opened the door to her room to find Red with the phone to his ear, smiling amusedly. She had never seen him dressed casually before and it was… well… endearing. He wore a pair of jeans with a white shirt and a gray suit jacket.

"I don't recognize that song," he said, ending the call, cocking his head in that way he did that made him look like a curious puppy.

"That doesn't surprise me," she said, turning around to straighten up the room a bit before he followed behind her, taking a seat in the plush chair by the window.

"Are you ready to see some greenery?" he asked, pulling back the curtain to check the weather. Sun was now streaming in the window.

"Let's do this," Liz said.

"You don't get seasick do you?" Red asked.

"Are we going on a boat?" she asked, feeling her excitement show. She loved any time that she could get on the water.

On the small ferry, Liz insisted upon standing on the deck to enjoy the view. The sun was warm on her face as she leaned over the railing, feeling for the first time in months a little child-like. She closed her eyes as the wind whipped her ponytail across her neck. The spray of the water settled on her face and her lips, and running her tongue across them she tasted salt. Then she remembered her camera. Taking it out of her purse, she secured the strap to her wrist, thinking for a moment about how upset she'd be if she dropped it in the water. She shot a picture of the water, little green islands just barely making themselves visible on the horizon. It wouldn't be much of a picture, but she wanted to remember this moment – far away from all of her problems (well, most of them) and able to relax in a foreign country, seeing new sights.

"Here," Red said, motioning for the camera. She handed it over, hesitantly. "I have a better view from this angle."

She could hear him snapping a few shots from the front of the narrow deck. The nearest island came into view and Liz got on the tips of her toes to get a better vantage. All at once, the feeling of being unsettled that she had been experiencing turned into a happy curiosity. Like Red had promised, the island was green as far as the eye could see although she could see that the island itself was small. Waves crashed against the moorings at the shore and the docked boats were surging and swaying lazily. In the crackling of the loudspeaker, she could just make out that it was nearly time to disembark. Red placed the camera back in her hand and she scrolled through the pictures he had taken; each one was a picture of her in profile, looking out into the water with the wind in her hair. She had never seen pictures of herself where she looked so… well, pretty. Carefree even, although she knew that in reality _that_ was far from the case. But the pictures could have fooled her if she didn't know any better, she looked almost radiant.

"Come on, this way," Red said, placing a hand on her arm and leading her toward the steps.

As it turned out, Red was no more cautious on a scooter than he was in a car. She tried her best to keep up with him, but kept losing him on the turns. At one point he got so far ahead of her that she found him pulled off by the side of the road, waiting for her.

"How much further to the fort?" she asked, yelling over the puttering of the engine. He pointed up the hill and she saw a stretch of road snaking up to a set of gray cliffs, sheared straight down into the water.

When they arrived, they parked the scooters by a fence and made a lengthy hike up a hill to the cliffs. It was a long series of rustic stone steps, overgrown with moss and grass. Though she was fairly sure on her feet, the last few steps were especially tall and overgrown. It was clear they were at the highest point on the island and the view from the top was breathtaking. The breeze was cool and clean and she felt herself breathing deeper than usual, the muscles of her chest stretching open and welcoming in the fresh air.

"This fort is about 2000 years old, and although it's _technically _a fort it's not likely that it was used for military purposes. Historians surmise it was used for ceremonial purposes by the druids," Red explained, walking toward the cliffs. She followed him cautiously, realizing that he was not slowing down as he approached the edge.

"Red," she said, warningly. He was still walking with purpose toward the cliff. "RED!"

He stopped with the toes of his shoes nearly hanging over the edge. For one desperate moment, Liz thought he was going to step off and leave her stranded and alone in a foreign country. She remembered the first word she had written in his profile. _Unpredictable. _He knelt down and sat on the edge of the cliff, letting his feet hang off the brink. He looked back at her and beckoned her to him, motioning for her to sit next to him.

"Are you _insane_?!" she said, feeling lightheaded from the thought. If he heard her, he didn't react; he simply patted the ground next to him, summoning her again to sit.

"I'm scared of heights, Red," she said, walking just a bit closer just to make sure he heard her.

"I insist - the view is stunning."

"Red, you're scaring me."

"Lizzie," he said, his voice soothing and hypnotic. She could feel her stomach drop and her head whirl. _It's the heights_ she told herself.

"The view is fine from here. Very beautiful," she said, hoping to sound convincing. He didn't move his hand, still keeping it on the ground next to him. She could feel herself shaking a bit and with a very labored, deep breath, she steeled her nerves. Putting one very cautious and restrained foot in front of the other she neared the edge of the cliffs. As the cliff came closer to meeting her shoes, she looked down and cursed herself for doing it. She squeezed her eyes closed, blinking back tears. Reaching out, without looking, she somehow knew she would find his hand outstretched. She eased herself to the cold ground, chilled by the breeze off the far away ocean. She straightened her legs under her and felt her feet dangle off the edge… slowly and bravely, she opened her eyes. What had always scared her about heights wasn't the idea of the distance itself… but the idea that she would impulsively, without thinking, jump from them. She never knew why those thoughts occurred to her but it terrified her that she might be capable at any moment of losing herself in a moment of daring. They called them "intrusive thoughts" when she was in school, the compulsive occurrence of unwelcome ideas.

The blue water glittered past her feet, and the waves crashed silently creating white bubbling ribbons of surf as they met the cliffs. The water seemed close until she noticed its silence.

"It's strange you can't hear the waves," Lizzie said, her voice shaking.

"They are over 300 feet below us," Red answered, his speech impeded, and as he spoke she heard the striking of a match. He held in his mouth two cigars and was drawing in breath, causing the ends to glow bright red. He extracted one, and offered it to Liz, still looking out at the waves.

"Oh, I don't smoke," she said.

"Nor do I. Filthy habit," he said, the cigar secured between his teeth, his words forming billowing puffs of white, sweet smoke.

"He says, in smoke rings," she said, smiling at him.

"A person doesn't _smoke_ a cigar, a person _savors_ it."

Hesitantly, she reached out and took the cigar from his hand, unsure how to hold it. The end was still damp from his lips.

"Now… don't inhale. Draw the smoke into your mouth, taste it, then blow," he said, demonstrating. As he sucked in the smoke, it caused his cheeks to hallow, pulling his skin tight along the bones at his cheeks and jaw. As he blew out the smoke, she couldn't help but watch his lips form a lazy kiss. She placed her cigar between her lips and even as she did it she couldn't believe she was doing it; Sam would have absolutely had her ass for this. She felt the hot smoke fill her mouth and as it hit her tongue, she tasted vanilla and honey, cinnamon and fire. She expelled the smoke, conscious of Red watching her mouth as she formed a pucker much like his.

"See? Not so awful," Red said. In the haze from the tobacco she felt herself relax. Felt her brain slow down. Letting the salty sea air mix with the smoke, she felt all at once… grateful. She didn't remember the last time she let herself float away and see something beautiful with clear eyes. Yesterday she had the weight of the world of her shoulders and today she was across an ocean, only two people in the world knew where she was and, for right now, Red stopped being her partner or her work or her burden. He became her companion.

He pulled his arms out of his blazer and put it down on the grass behind them. As he fixed the sleeve of his shirt, she noticed the edge of a brightly colored tattoo. She had heard that he had one but had forgotten all about it since her first day of work. Feeling bold after her venture to the edge of the cliff and puffing her first cigar, she pulled up the sleeve of his shirt, exposing the whole design. He didn't flinch, he didn't deter her. He merely observed her as she observed him, like docile animals do behind the glass of zoo exhibits. She ran her finger over the raised skin and could feel the slight but discernable scarring under the bright colors. The skin of his upper arm was soft, smooth and pale, splayed with very delicate, subtle freckles in contrast to the reds, oranges and yellows forming the figure of a burning winged creature with talons.

"A phoenix," she said, in what she hoped was a conversational tone instead of the fascination that overcame her. Her head was beginning to swim from the smoke, she could taste the sweet vanilla on her lips.

"It is," Red replied shortly. _Like making conversation with a refrigerator._

"I want you to tell me about it," she said.

"What do you want to know?"

"I want to know everything," she said, jovially, leaning imperceptibly toward him. It was just enough to catch his eye. He sighed a little, working his jaw.

"I got it here, actually. In Dublin. Many, many years ago. I was visiting a colleague of mine and after a particularly thorough tour of the Jameson Distillery, he took me to his tattoo artist. Beautiful artwork this man had done on him too, a representation of The Birth of Venus on his arm. Stunning. I don't remember choosing the design, but I do remember the stinging. Like being scratched by a particularly persistent cat for over an hour. Painful but… beautiful," he said, looking down at it and then back at her.

"The phoenix is a symbol of redemption," Liz said. Red paused a moment, taking a long thoughtful pull of his cigar.

"Well… we'll see about that," he said, searching her eyes. She only hoped that she was conveying a sense of hope. "If I have a chance to do any good in this world, Lizzie, you are the one to help me."

"Is that what you want from me? A chance at redemption?"

"You're already giving me that. We make a great team, we've accomplished a lot of things in the short time we've known each other."

"Yeah. We have." There was an intimate silence between them as they continued smoking their cigars, the smoke they exhaled mingling in the air between them.

"So tell me Lizzie, do you have tattoos?"

"I don't," she said, smoke from the cigar making visible her shy laugh.

"It doesn't hurt," he said. "Once you get one you're going to want more."

"_You_ only have one," she said, pointing out the flaw in his point.

"You don't know that," he said, his laugh was half a growl. He turned to smile at her mischievously. She felt herself freeze, embarrassed to find herself again looking at his lips. She wanted to ask about his other tattoos, perhaps under the guise of making conversation, but he beat he didn't give her a chance to snap out of her reverie. "Come, Lizzie. Time to head back down the hill if we're going to make our dinner engagement this evening."


	6. Chapter 6

"You expected me to be able to walk in these?" Liz said, gesturing to her feet. The heels of the pumps were high enough that she felt as though she was practically on pointe. Red was clearly not looking at her feet; she knew he wouldn't be. The silken sapphire blue top he'd slipped into her garment bag fit her perfectly but that was the problem. The cut was so low she had actually searched the place for double stick tape. She zipped the leather jacket to her neck and his eyes followed with it.

"You paying attention now? How far are we walking to this place?" she said, playfully reproachful.

"It's just at the end of the block, it's the reason I stay in this particular bed and breakfast. Stumbling distance from The Quays," he put his arm out, inviting her to take it. She didn't see how she'd make it there otherwise. Her hand grazed the buttery fabric of his charcoal suit as she took his arm. _This suit costs more than my life. I just know it._

"This is a great suit, it's a nice color on you," she said, rediscovering the boldness she'd felt that afternoon, encouraged by the spice and zest of his cologne. His cheeks looked soft and slick from a fresh shave and they rose into a smile.

"Thank you. Glad to see I was right about the blue," he said gesturing at her shirt. "You see, Lizzie? You are a winter - jewel tones."

"Every time you use that reference you date yourself. Color Me Beautiful is no longer a thing," she said, elbowing him a little. "Let's go."

Stepping out the door, the night air was damp and cool from the breeze off the bay. In contrast to the morning, the streets were scattered with people walking up and down the sidewalks and roads. They passed a couple of women who looked to be in their mid-twenties who took a long glance at Red as they walked by. One of them smiled and said a meek but friendly "Hello" – Red tipped his hat to them just slightly and as their voices dropped behind them Liz could hear one of the girls saying to the other "Wow. I know." Liz smiled at him, thinking he might have noticed their admiration. If he did, he certainly wasn't acknowledging it.

They arrived in front of a gaudy blue-painted building, music filling the air even before the door was even open.

"Now, the people I am meeting tonight are old colleagues of mine, they are under the impression that you are my girlfriend. There's no need for theatrics, but I need you to be relatively convincing. The two men are counterfeiters, the best in the business. They are twins, Killian and Patrick Murphy. Their sister Anne may be with them, she's a bit of a firecracker. I know because we had a brief affair. One that ended when she drunkenly spilled wine on a perfect replica of Oudry's _The White Duck_ the day before it was due in Dubai_._"

Liz's mouth hung open, due in part to surprise but mostly in an attempt to form words for a situation that begged for many.

"You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend… in front of your ex-girlfriend," she finally said, carefully measuring her words so as not to sound alarmed.

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Three drinks, then we excuse ourselves and we go to another bar. This is mostly an excuse to find out if they have any deals on the table to lure me. I highly doubt it, most of the time they are too busy fighting amongst themselves to get any real work done when it comes to organized efforts," he said, reaching for the door.

"You go ahead, I need to check in with Ressler. Give me five minutes," she said.

"Alright but don't be long," he said, checking his watch. She nodded, the music swelling and fading with the door as it opened and then shut behind him.

She began dialing, trying to keep an eye on Red through the window as he disappeared into the crowd of people lining the bar.

Ressler answered after the first ring.

"Keen, now's not the best time," he said, sounding more put-upon than usual at the sound of her voice.

"Oh, I'm sorry, what was that Captain Hard Ass? I thought I was supposed to be checking in every 12 hours."

"Yeah, you are, but you're not exactly top on my list at the moment. Fowler is missing."

"…She's _what_?" _Oh god, that's right. Fowler._ _Did you really forget in mere hours that the man you're traveling with killed a person yesterday?! Get it together. _

"_Missing_, Keen. She's a top government official and she missed three meetings this morning already, one at the damn White House. We're assuming the worst," he said, she could hear phones ringing in the background. "Listen, I've gotta go. Ask Red what he thinks is going on here, see if he's got any names."

"She's Assistant Attorney General, it could be anybody," she said, her heart beating faster under the pressure of the lie.

"No shit." Any other day it would have been a dig at her, but today he just sounded exhausted.

"I'll let you go. I'll be in touch if Red has anything enlightening to say about it."

"Later, Keen."

Liz stared at her phone for a moment. She felt awful knowing that Ressler was going to be at work, likely around the clock, on a wild goose chase trying to find Fowler when she knew Fowler was already dead. He was going to miss the date with Audrey that he had been talking about for days. And here she was, dressed to the nines in clothes paid for with a criminal's money, about to spend a night in a bar in Ireland.

_Screw it. _She unzipped her coat, rearranging the silky blue shirt for maximum impact. _I can do this. _

Swinging the door open to the bar, she was hit with the swell of raucous music causing her heart to thrum in manic time with its beat. The high wooden ceilings and rafters seemed to glow a yellowy orange in the dark as they filled the room with the scent of their aging wood. The entire bar was singing along with the band, playing a song whose words they all seemed to know but she couldn't make out. She smiled, losing herself in the tide of cheerful bar patrons. She almost missed Red, waving her down from a table in the corner – it was hard to see most of him since there was a particularly busty auburn haired woman wrapped around him like a coiled snake.

The prickle of jealousy made her stomach flutter, her breathing hitch. She approached the table, channeling her adrenaline into walking as confidently as possible. _Now is not the time to fail me, heels. _

"Gentlemen, Anne… this is Lizzie. She is my companion on this little trip – Lizzie, this is Patrick, Killian and… Anne," he said, gesturing to the woman who until now had not lifted her face from Red's neck. As she met Liz's eyes, it was clear that she had been completely in her own world. She was beautiful, all green eyes and pouty lips. Her cheekbones were impossibly high and exaggerated, curls falling down her neck and over protruding, delicate collarbones. From Red's lap, she extended a hand toward Liz, offering it to her.

"Nice to meet you, Lizzie," she said, responding to a small nudge from Red and standing up. "Red and I were just… catching up."

"Pleasure. It's _Liz_ actually," she said, shaking the woman's delicate hand, casting a glance at Red. She moved to pull up a chair next to him and ran her hand over his back, trying to look like she was establishing territory. She crossed her leg toward him and leaned over, putting her lips to his ear.

"Three drinks then we leave?" she asked. He nodded. She couldn't wait to get away from this woman already. Or better yet, get Red away from her. Her own jealousy surprised her, but it was undeniable.

The two other men at the table were staring at her with full, amused smiles. They looked as mischievous as young boys – real life double versions of Dennis the Menace: blonde, freckled and naughty.

"So, you're traveling with Reddington, eh? Tell me, where do you stay while he's out murdering his rivals, the hotel room? Or do you tag along to hide the bodies, I noticed you have sturdy ankles. Perfect for lifting," the one on the right said, leaning toward her, uncomfortably close.

The table was silent. Liz stared, stunned. And then suddenly, he slapped his hand on the table and began laughing with his whole body – leaning practically into his brother's lap and starting a contagion of barking laughter around the table. She looked over to see Red bent over his pint glass, overcome with amusement.

"Lizzie, this one is Killian. He's… the funny one," Red said, gesturing to the man across from her. Liz extended her hand and he shook it roughly, likewise with his brother. She smiled at them, leaning forward and pressing her breasts together. It had been years since she had resorted to this kind of asinine behavior, but with her head still reeling from the jealousy of seeing Anne with Red it felt almost involuntary.

"What is this you're drinking? I'm mostly a wine drinker but I'm open to suggestions," she said, half of a giggle in her voice, higher pitched than usual. She felt Red bristle as he raised his glass of whiskey to his lips to cover what she guessed was probably a grimace. _Turnabout is fair play_. The brothers made a comedic fuss of fumbling for the pitcher and a glass, pouring it for her enthusiastically. Each of them was talking over the other explaining that it was beer, that she could have as much as she wanted and then simultaneously flagging a waitress for another pitcher. _Too easy. _

"So are you staying long? I'd love to show you around," Anne said, only looking at Red from her spot directly across from him.

"Staying tomorrow then leaving late the next day," Red answered. "Anything in particular you suggest we see?"

"Oh nothing in particular. You should stop by my place, I finished the decorating in my bedroom, it looks much different since the last time you were there," she said, stealing a glance at Liz. Instead of responding to the obvious flirtation, Liz gulped down the better part of her first beer. She could feel the brothers' eyes on her.

"The last time I was there I wasn't paying much attention to the décor," Red said, laughing. The crackling tension between herself and Red reached a noticeable level. Liz poured herself another pint. She placed her hand on his leg under the table and drew the number one just above his knee with her finger, signaling that she had finished one drink. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Well… looks like someone is taking to beer drinking," Killian said, laughing. She shrugged at him dismissively but kindly, pulling her chair in closer to Red, making sure their shoulders were touching.

"So… tell me something I don't know about Ray," Liz said, trying to make conversation before Anne had another excuse to display herself like the oversexed peacock that she seemed to be.

"This bastard," Patrick said, pointing at Red, "dances like a professional. It's embarrassing. We take him out the bars to have a couple drinks, a couple laughs, and then the next thing you know he's swinging some barmaid around the room like there are judges in the audience. Bloody ostentatious is what it is."

"You dance?" Liz asked, raising her glass to her lips. Red shrugged indifferently as if to say _Its nothing._ He smiled, watching her lips as she took a long drink. She winked at him, checking the corner of her eye to make sure Anne was watching.

"Brought my wife out to meet him once. Once!" Killian said, raising one finger. "This sneaky fuck spent an hour whirling her around the dance floor like Fred Astaire and, ever since, she won't stop talking about '_when's Red coming to town next'_," he raised his tone mockingly. "Had to tell her I was meeting my dad tonight just to make sure this one wasn't going to steal her away from me."

"You don't even _like_ your wife," Patrick chided.

"Doesn't mean I want Romeo over here trying to have his way with her," he said, pointing at Red who was already laughing.

"That's how he persuaded me, the dancing," Anne said, looking wistful if not a little drunk. Liz felt her cheeks get hot.

"Yeah, he's quite the charmer isn't he," Liz said, leaning over and placing a hand on the back of his neck, stroking it lovingly. His eyes met hers with a look that betrayed itself as pride. She finished her second pint and drew the number two into the sensitive skin on the back of his neck. She felt him shiver. _Two pints down._

"So, Patrick, what is business like these days?" Red asked, his tone turning formal.

"Slow. Fucking slow. Maybe it's the time of year, I don't know, but no offers coming in for contract work. Had to take some jobs doing small time laundering just to keep the cash coming in. It's rough, what have you got going on?"

"Nothing crossing my table that interests me. Lots of inconsequential drug smugglers, nothing that holds my interest. I was hoping you might have something interesting in the works, just to keep me busy. A retirement job, if you will," he said.

"Retirement? Finally coming to terms with old age, eh?" They laughed, letting the conversation fade.

The room began to pick up volume as the crowd began to sing, spottily, along with the band. Red's face brightened, seeming to recognize the song. They turned toward the stage to watch the band play.

_I've been a wild rover for many a year_

_And I spent all my money on whiskey and beer,_

_But now I'm returning with gold in great store_

_And I never will play the wild rover no more._

The tables erupted in unison, yelling out "_And it's no, nay, never_!" then clapping, stomping and slapping of tables. "_No nay never no more! Will I play the Wild Rover? No never no more_!" Through the next verses, Liz got swept up in the frenzy, trying to remember the chorus so that she could belt it out with the rest of them, hopefully at the appropriate time. Her head began to feel fuzzy from the two strong beers she had chugged in rapid succession. She felt herself giving in, swaying with the music, getting lost in the energy of the strangers around her who were crowded in closely to her. As the song drew to a close, she applauded along with the crowd. It was beginning to feel like vacation again.

Letting her excited mood guide her, she gulped her third beer. She looked over to see Red looking distractedly in Anne's direction but she felt emboldened to make her move. Sipping the last of her beer, she placed her hand again on his leg, this time much higher, much closer to his inner thigh. He looked over at her with a look in his eye resembling… _was it fear?_

She began drawing the number three, signaling him that she had finished her third pint and she was ready to go. She felt her hand graze against bare skin… soft skin… and then the slick firmness of a patent leather shoe. She looked across the table, just in time to see Anne smirk at her. Her foot had been in his lap.

Without a word, Liz removed her hand from his leg and with the other still on her just-emptied glass, she slammed it on the table. It shattered with a tinkling crash. She felt out of control. She _was_ out of control. She threw back her chair and headed for the door, using the last of the poise she had left to do so without falling over.

"Elizabeth!" she heard Red yell, authoritatively from behind her. She kept walking.

She pushed past other patrons, through the door and into the now rainy night. How _dare_ that woman. And why didn't Red put a stop to it, weren't they supposed to be undercover as lovers for god's sake? Her jacket wasn't warm enough to stave off the cold and her shaking legs threatened to throw her off her heels. She was too drunk now to care – she bent over and took them off, carrying them as she started walking barefoot down the rough cement sidewalk. Toward nowhere. Just away. And from no one in particular.

As she could have predicted, she heard the determined footfall of someone behind her, gaining ground. He reached out to firmly grab her wrist and she wrenched it away.

"What the hell was that?" she spat her words at him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know…"

"We are supposed to be _together_, or had you forgotten that?" she said, loudly. People walking across the street stopped to stare.

"I hadn't forgotten, but you could have stood to show a little more initiative if it bothered you."

"Initiative?! When? When she was sitting in your lap or when her foot was on your crotch?" The bystanders were now gaping openly. "WHAT?" Lizzie yelled in their direction. They walked quickly away.

"Calm down, its fine."

"It's NOT fine," she said, gritting her teeth. "It's not fine. I'm here. Alone. With you. At great detriment to my reputation and possibly my life. And you tell me I'm supposed to take initiative to keep that woman from hitting on you?"

"They weren't suspicious at all, you played your role perfectly. Especially after that little display, they aren't going to question it. It was impressive, actually."

"Well I'm certainly glad you're happy," she said, venomously. She began walking away from him again, feeling tears sting her eyes. Her cheeks were warm with rage; the contrast with the chilly night was making them numb. She couldn't feel her feet.

"Maybe I'm just naïve but aren't I, at worst, a murderer to you? And at best, your job? To what exactly do I owe this reaction?"

She turned on her heel, walking toward him at a pace that let him know she was not going to stop until she backed him up. For the second time in as many days, she drove her finger into his chest.

"You _are_ my job, but you refuse to leave it at that. Not me. You. You are the one who whisked me away under the guise of needing company. You are the one who bought me these clothes. You are the one who turns up like a white knight, calling me, turning up at my house, risking your goddamn life for me. And you expect me not to develop feelings for you. You want to use me to bring down your enemies and then treat me like a damsel, a toy or a kept woman as you see fit for your ends. You know what you're doing."

"What am I doing, Lizzie," he said, reaching for her finger as it threatened to reach vital organs through his skin.

"Making me care about you," she said, her eyes welling with tears.

"Is that what this was about, were you jealous of her?"

"No, but I trusted you. Red, I have no one. Tom is gone. My friends have stopped calling me, they're sick of getting my voicemail. Sam is dead. You are the only person I have and all you do, no matter how much you show up in my life is make me feel scared. And lonely."

She watched his eyes turn sad. Her hand relaxed under his and he intertwined his fingers with hers.

"You are not alone, Lizzie. You have me. And I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

"I don't have you. I don't _know_ you. You can't just waltz into my life, share nothing about yourself with me and then act like I'm the world to you. Stop playing your fucking games with me."

"You want me to stop playing games with you?"

"Yes."

The hand that wasn't holding hers swept her hair back from her face and in the same motion pulled her toward him. He kissed her with a force that knocked her back on her heels. She felt him pulling away, possibly to get her reaction but she stopped him. She reached up and placed her hands on his face, holding him close to her. She wanted more before she knew that she even wanted it at all. As she parted her lips under his, she tasted the whiskey he had been drinking, saccharine and aromatic, his lips slick with rain. She felt the rumble of his moan against her chest and she threw her arms around him, capturing him in an embrace that he quickly reciprocated, running his hands down her sides. He detached his lips from hers and whispered in her ear.

"That's what you call game playing was keeping me from doing. I call it restraint. Now is your chance to set right the chess board. Games… or no games?" he asked.

"No games."


	7. Chapter 7

"I feel like dancing," he said, his voice deep and close to her ear.

"Funny, I feel like sleeping."

"It's still early, Lizzie. There is still plenty to see."

"If you find me some coffee, we might be able to make a compromise."

He raised his chin to indicate that they should continue down the street. For a few moments they walked in a weighty but comfortable silence, closer in proximity than usual but decidedly preoccupied.

"What did Agent Ressler have to say?" Red asked.

"They've realized Diane is missing. I guess that's an important detail. I'm supposed to ask you if you know anyone who has it out for her," Liz scoffed. She idly thought about how little Ressler would care about Diane's safety if he knew she was responsible for the incursion that turned his leg into a bloody mess.

"He wanted information from me, not my head on a platter?" Red said with a genuine chuckle. "Once it dawns on him to bring up my name, someone is going to need to clear the hallways of banana peels."

"You sound awfully confident that you're going to be safe."

"If I wasn't, I wouldn't have brought you along. I wouldn't put you in that kind of danger."

Her legs felt wobbly from the chill and the adrenaline, her feet were desperate for a rest as they neared the café whose lights glowed warm and honey-gold in the night. As he reached to open the door for her, he led her through with his other hand, grazing it along her lower back. Involuntarily she let out a startled shriek that caused him to pull his hand away as though she were in fire; he looked almost scared for the first time since she'd met him.

"…Ticklish lower back, remember?" she said, catching her breath.

"Well I certainly won't be forgetting now. Dear God I thought I had electrocuted you," he said, eyes still wide from surprise.

"Don't worry about it," she said, touching his chest on her way past him, hoping to reassure him. As she claimed a couch in a quiet corner, she watched him order their coffee. In contrast to the bar, the café was quiet enough that she heard the arm of the couch creak as she leaned against it. Whether it was conscious or some kind of muse, she heard the words "_what are you doing"_ repeating in her head. It was a nagging loop of guilt that made her unsettled and exposed.

_You're married to Tom. Technically._

_You work with this man. _

_You barely know him. _

_What you do know about him is terrifying._

_What are you doing. What are you doing. What are you doing. _

She felt his eyes on her before she noticed him return. He handed her a steaming cup and she noticed the liquid inside was lighter brown than black as he took his seat beside her.

"Did you put Baileys in this?" she asked, smelling the coffee and detecting the sugary thickness of booze and cream.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought we were in Ireland," Red said, smirking at his sarcasm. The blue shadows of sleeplessness were clear under his eyes but he gave her a playful smile, sipping his coffee before putting it down on the table.

"Here," he said, reaching out toward her feet.

"What?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him over her cup.

"Take those off," he said, still motioning for her foot.

"First you make me wear them, and then you make me take them off?"

"Yes, _now_ I remember coming into your room and forcing those heels onto your feet," he said with a sigh. "No one _makes_ Elizabeth Keen do anything." He placed a hand under her knee and she straightened her leg until her shoe was on his chest. He popped her heel out of the stiff leather and placed the shoe on the floor. He wrapped his hands around her foot, the heat from his hands radiating through to her chilled bones.

"You don't have to do that," she said. He grinned and held up his hands, making a show of acquiescing to her. She kept her foot resting on his chest. "I didn't mean that, I take it back. My feet are killing me."

"I thought so," he said, picking her foot up again and running his thumbs over her aching muscles. "However, if I do this, you have you tell me something about yourself. You found out tonight that I can dance… what is there to find out about Lizzie Keen?"

"Hmm… I don't know. All this reciprocity and turn-taking sounds an awful lot like game playing to me," she said, sipping her coffee.

"There are games and then there is what's fair."

"You've made it clear that you know everything about me and my life. What more could you possibly want to know that you don't already know?"

"I don't know your dog's name."

"How do you know I have a dog?" she asked, feeling the wave of paranoia that always happened when he mentioned things about her that he shouldn't know. She made a feeble attempt to take her foot back, but he held it firmly, working her skin with his fingers.

"When I called you from the payphone, there was a dog barking in the background," he said, his answer making her feel a little ridiculous for having been so suspicious.

"His name is Hudson, after the river. I found him there when he was just a puppy, someone had abandoned him," she said, feeling suddenly wistful from missing her dog. He had her dinner date the past few times she had come home with take-out only to find Tom gone. Hudson had taken to watching her night after night while she worked her wooden, splintered chop sticks alone at the table. On what ended up being her last night in the house, she had placed a white paper carton of chow mein on the floor and watched happily as he ate the whole thing. She remembered how blissful he'd been, curling up next to her, his soft, warm belly full of Tom's dinner.

"I owned a dog once, a long time ago," Red said. "She was a bulldog, one of the chubby ones with the short legs and the even shorter noses. Her name was Frieda and I had had her for years before starting a family. She was my best friend but the minute my daughter came along, she seemed to forget all about me," he said, smiling but looking as though he was a million miles away. "They followed each other everywhere. She was a living angel, that dog."

"What happened to her?"

"She was killed. Knowing her, it was while doing the one thing she lived for… protecting my daughter." His voice was low and somber, but disarmingly casual. Liz didn't know what to say and the searching for words seemed futile, her throat threatening to close from latent tears. She only knew about his family from looking clinically at his case files, finding that they had been murdered around the time he disappeared. She had only thought about those events as precipitating factors when it came to his aloof, detached nature. But at one point Red had been a family man before life had made him hard and had closed up so tight. It felt like mourning for a man she'd never met.

"I traveled too much the last 20 years to have a dog, it wouldn't be fair," he said breaking the silence, his voice brightening with a subtle change in tone. "But I miss that. Not so much owning a dog, but simply being around them. Their… contentment is contagious."

"Would you ever own a dog again?" Liz asked. Without intending to, she fell into profiling him. Owning a dog means commitment, a desire for stability and companionship. For Red, it would mean healing.

"I hope there comes a time in my life when I would be a good dog owner again."

Suddenly Liz's eyelids felt heavy as he continued rubbing her tired feet and she realized that she hadn't slept for a long time. She wanted to stay up longer, even if it was just to be near him. She didn't want to squander this opportunity to learn more about him, even if it hurt. She was desperate for him to become human to her now. But she was losing the battle with sleep. Her blinking became slow and she found herself savoring the moments that they were closed until those spaces became longer, her breathing gentler. Her body felt heavier and heavier, her head lolling to one side. The exhaustion from the fresh air, the booze and the excitement settled over her like a fog. The feeling of Red's rough hands on her feet was the only thing tethering her to a waking state. She was brought back moments later by the feeling of his hand on her cheek.

"Let's get you to bed."

The rain had subsided but the night air was frigid and intrusive, blowing straight through her jacket. She linked her arm through his, walking barefoot down the damp concrete with her shoes in her hand. The walk back was short and the bars were still lit up, but they hurried past them trying to keep warm.

The front room of the bed and breakfast was quiet and although it was still relatively early. It was warmer inside. But the chill was still causing her to shiver; taking off her wet jacket didn't help as much as she'd hoped it might. Red placed his hands on either side of her face, but they were only slightly warmer now than her skin.

"We'll find you a better coat tomorrow," he said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into a tight embrace. She felt the softness of his cheek against hers, finding her lips next to his ear.

"Don't get any crazy ideas," Liz said. "But… will you stay with me tonight?"

"What crazy ideas are you referring to?" he said, his voice only slightly above a whisper.

"You know damn well what I mean," she said.

"I tend to _only_ have crazy ideas," he said, running his hands down her bare arms, making her knees weak. He kissed her cheek; his lips and his breath warmed the side of her face. Then she felt the heat of his lips on her neck, her ear. She bit down on her lip hard, trying hard to steel herself. She was near enough to him again to smell the scent of his aftershave and it felt like… home.

"I need a good night's sleep and I'm not going to get it alone. But I also won't get any decent sleep if you try any… funny business. I just need to be near another heartbeat right now. Can you do that for me?" she asked. He stepped back to look her in the eye; he looked as though he was searching for signs of doubt. She reached for his collar and pulled him toward her, kissing him firmly. She let her lips linger on his, savoring the taste of him. He stepped back again and for a moment she worried that she had scared him away; that the tenuous bond they'd made was now going to be broken. He opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated, tilting his head to look at her as though he needed to see her at a different angle.

"Give me two minutes."


	8. Chapter 8

A delicate flurry of dust sparkled in the stream of light coming in from the window. It didn't wake her right away, but slowly she became aware of her dry throat, her slackened jaw. Her hand was asleep under her face, but the tingling wasn't enough to inspire her to stir. Even the slight weight of the covers made her feel like getting out from under them might not be necessary for a few more hours, maybe days. Her legs were sore either from overuse the day before or complete lack of movement for what must have been ten hours. She moved only to pull the covers over her further, but was met with resistance. First her tug was tentative and half-hearted, but as she pulled harder it occurred to her that there was something on top of her bed.

She rolled over to find Red lying on top of the covers next to her. Slowly, the night before came back to her in a flash. _Oh my god. I asked him to stay with me last night. _She didn't remember anything after opening the door to her room. She felt distinctly that she would have remembered seeing him in the loose cotton pants and t-shirt he was wearing, had she been awake when he came in. She was not under the impression that he slept in three-piece suits, but it was strange seeing him so casual and defenseless.

The beam of light from the window seemed to only have a few moments before it would shine onto his closed eyelids, waking him. He was nearly unrecognizable to her without his cheeky grin or his usual concerned grimace. He would have appeared nearly innocent if she didn't know any better. His cheek was pressed so deep into his pillow that it forced his lips into a pout; even with his finely aged features it made him look like a little boy caught in a nap. His breathing was so slow that she felt like she waited forever for his chest to rise and fall. Just then, the beam of light neared his eyes and his breaths started to come faster, his face drawing into a near scowl from crushing his eyelids together to block out the light.

She wanted to reach out and touch him, but the thought occurred to her that he might not remember what had happened last night. He had been the one to kiss her first, but it was possible that he didn't remember. Or maybe in the light of day he would regret it; the fact that he was on top of the covers didn't bode well. There was a chance that he was one of those men who enjoyed playing games more than he enjoyed the actual company of a woman. She remembered Sam's awkward, ham-fisted attempts to impress upon her how deceptive and manipulative men can be. It had been the same speech every time.

"_I just wish there was a woman around to teach you about all this stuff, Butterball. But you only have me. So I'll give it to ya straight; these men of your generation have no respect for women. Keep your wits about you or you'll get sucked right into their bullshit before you even know what hit ya."_

It looked like he was just about to wake up, so Liz closed her eyes and tried her best to look as though she were asleep. _Please don't leave. Just please, don't leave. _If he was going to leave out of regret she did not want to be awake for it; pretending that she had slept through it would afford her the opportunity to act like it never happened. Back to the playful banter of days before, and they would never have to speak of this again. But that wasn't what she wanted.

"I could have sworn we made a pact last night not to play games, Agent Keen," he said, his voice a sleepy rasp. Her eyes flipped open in surprise and she kicked herself for it. "Pretending to be asleep so I can catch a glimpse of you looking like Sleeping Beauty. Clever, but I much prefer you awake… and lippy."

"Careful what you wish for," Liz said, put off by the amount of sass he had at the ready even upon waking, but happy to know that he remembered at least part of their evening.

"Maybe you misunderstand what I meant by lippy," he said. _He remembers. _

"I'm not rewarding you for that pun," she said. She tugged on the blanket under him theatrically. "What is this about?"

"Well, when I got back to your room you were already fast asleep, you were snoring so loudly it sounded like a hive of bees in a tin can. I wasn't entirely sure you had been in your right mind when you asked me to stay with you. On the off chance you were, I didn't want you to wake up lonely. But if you weren't, I didn't want to make any… assumptions."

She realized that as agonizing as the last few moments had been thinking that maybe he would regret being with her, that he had spent his night the same way. It had been a very long time since Liz had done this dance, trying to figure out what someone else wanted from her and trying to discern what it was that she wanted to begin with. With Tom, she hadn't had to guess his intentions. He had come on so strong that it didn't leave her a moment to doubt him. He begged her for a month to accept a date with him after they had met through mutual friends of theirs, some teachers from his school. There were the flower deliveries, the chaste phone calls to ask about her day, the carefully placed mentions to their friends that he felt that he had met "the one"…

He had worn her down but in the ensuing months and years she grew to honestly love him. He doted on her in a way that she was never able to reciprocate fully for a variety of reasons, but it didn't deter him. Eventually she felt unworthy of his attention as careful and honest as it was, and her hope by the day they were married was that he would never realize how little she could offer him emotionally. She remembered telling Sam that day how lucky she was that she had found someone who understood her. Silently she remembered thinking to herself that she was lucky in turn that she didn't have to _try_ to understand him. And in front of only a few friends and family members, she had vowed to love him. She tried to remember when exactly it had occurred to her that she simply wasn't capable of such a thing. Did she know then?

She had never had a man treat her with velvet gloves before. Tom took any inch that she would give him and made such a show of gratitude for it that she was always compelled to give him another, until she found herself one day on the precipice of adopting a child. The finality of it, the fear of fixing her own baggage like a knot around another person's neck, gave her pause. It was that last inch between her and motherhood that made her realize that she had suggested adoption in order to stall him, hoping that somewhere along the line, in one of the interviews, that someone with a blazer and a few letters after their name might tell her what she always knew – she was not a person who was capable of taking care of a child. Then the escape hatch would open under her and she'd fall into the solitary life she was destined for, having given the alternative a try.

"I didn't ask you to stay _near_ me, I asked you to stay _with_ me."

Red's eyes danced in the light as he dragged himself close to her, the covers still separating their bodies. He placed her arm under her neck, giving her a place to rest her head on his shoulder. She breathed in deeply the smell of his cotton t-shirt; she could smell the warmth of skin and the faint fragrance of laundry detergent.

"Last night love entered my dreams… and then it was morning," Red said with a sigh.

"What is that from?" Liz said, thinking she recognized it from somewhere.

"Read it on the wrapper of an Italian chocolate."

Liz felt a giggle begin to tickle her chest, and then her throat. Before she could stop herself she burst into a peal of laughter that curled her body involuntarily closer to his. As her face pressed against his neck, she felt his throat surge with a laugh of his own.

"Get under the damn covers, would you."

He obliged, slipping in next to her but still keeping a distance between them. She remembered how forward he'd been last night, kissing her in the rain. She realized that he was waiting for her to reciprocate. He didn't seem like the type of man who wanted a woman to feel trapped by his advances, but he also didn't seem like the type who would need to resort to it. Even without that knowledge, she felt herself drawn to him, wanting to be closer.

The covers on Red's side of the bed were cool from not being used, and it was enough to refresh her aching limbs just slightly. His eyes looked clear and bright for the first time; even last night he had looked unrested and weary. The bluing purple shadows under his eyes were all but gone, his skin a refreshed, dewy pink.

"You look… younger," she said, hoping not to convey offense.

"I don't sleep well. I haven't in years. But last night I don't even remember moving. You were right, there is something about having another person next to you that makes sleep come easier."

"It doesn't work with just any person," she said, bringing her body flush with his. She felt him become still next to her, the careful restraint of a person who doesn't want to spook a wild animal. She pressed her lips against his, softly. His body relaxed against her, settling into the last bits of space between them. She felt him smile under her kiss; it something she had never experienced before. Tom had always been earnest and eager, but never seemed truly satisfied with what little of herself she gave. Red, on the other hand, was reduced to a purr under her touch and it made her feel… beautiful.

She moved her lips to his neck, just under his ear. It afforded her an opportunity to take in the delicate crinkles of his skin. It offered a distinguished character to his face that, if she was being honest, she had noticed almost immediately. Back then, she wrote off his good looks as a trait he had used to manipulate others. That perhaps it was his weapon.

There was a small circular, familiar scar that she recognized as about the size of a pen. She kissed it gently, offering a silent apology for giving him that particular wound. She remembered how justified she had felt, stabbing him in that hotel room. The thought of hurting him, or anyone hurting him really, now filled her with a sense of remorse, of the urge to protect him. He was more than capable of doing so himself but she had seen him hurt, tortured, weakened under grief in the short time since they had entered each other's lives. And if she were afforded the opportunity she found herself hoping that she would be up to the task of protecting him the way that he had protected her so many times.

"What's on the plan today?" she asked gamely. She knew if she didn't stop now she might give up what little hold she had over her emotions. She wanted to savor him, every little bit that he would let her have, still unsure what exactly he was after.

"Suddenly nothing that sounds that compelling," he said, snaking his arms around her. His thin cotton shirt pulled up just enough that she felt the bare skin of his stomach, warm against hers.

"I have one more day in Ireland. You're going to show me a good time."

"Wrong choice of words if you're looking to leave this bed."

"You're going to show me _the town_, Red."

He sighed, the air of his breath rustling her hair.

"Well, I do have a friend that had mentioned he wanted to see me. He owns a winery, we can start out there," he said, rolling over to get out of bed. "And you are _not_ ordering the Chardonnay, it's the… fast food of the wine world."

"I _like_ Chardonnay."

"No, you _think_ you like Chardonnay," he said, smiling. "I'll see you in half an hour."


	9. Chapter 9

In the course of the afternoon, Liz made two adamant vows to herself: never again would she go wine taste on an empty stomach and _this_ was the last time she would let Raymond Reddington drive her anywhere. Bottles clanked against each other haphazardly in their case in the back seat. Even though more wine was the furthest thing from her mind, she was worried that the next turn at this breakneck pace would cause one to shatter. Especially since, despite Red's protests, the case was half full of Chardonnay – the best she had ever tasted. Admittedly, she hadn't tasted much previously but all day she had been caught up in the citrusy springtime flavor of those wines, not once realizing how much she had actually had.

Her head felt pleasantly hazy so instead of admonishing Red for his driving, she gazed out the window. The memory of meeting Red's vintner reached through the fog of the last few hours and caused her to shake her head at herself in embarrassment. He had very kindly asked her if she had a favorite winery from the states and she had answered "Oh, um. I don't know. I think it starts with an F… ummm… Fr… Franzia?" She remembered them both blinking at her incredulously while she nervously popped tasting crackers in her mouth. "Is that the wine that comes in a box?" the man had asked, in a lilting brogue.

"Can I see your tasting notes?" she asked, motioning to Red from across the center console. He smiled, pulling it out of his breast pocket and handing it to her. She bucked her hips forward to gain access to her notes in her back pocket, and she noticed Red look over at her.

"See something you like?" she said. She ruined what she had meant to be a flirtatious comment with a barking laugh of self-amusement. She heard the telltale snort at the end of her laugh that had always served as her barometer for when it was time to stop drinking.

"Ah, the first time wine tasting. Always a test of one's tolerance," he said, smiling at her amusedly. He reached over and placed his hand on her thigh, stroking it with his thumb. Now he was speeding with only one hand on the steering wheel. _It's no use saying anything Liz, it's not like he's going to slow down._

She began comparing their tasting notes and it was just as stark a contrast as she had anticipated. The closest they had come to a similar assessment was about a Malbec, a wine she remembered distinctly. He had described it as "_Complex, charcoal flavor with tannins and a dark cherry finish_." Liz's note said simply "_Like someone tried to put out a burning tire with a catcher's mit._" She remembered carefully shielding her note from the vintner's sight, covering paper with her arm like an honors student sitting next to a cheater on quiz day.

Her phone rang. _Ressler._ She briefly considered ignoring his call, but thought better of it. She cleared her throat, lamely thinking in the moment that it might help her sound more… put together.

"Agent Keen," she answered, realizing that in the last two days she had really only been _Lizzie_.

"Is he with you?" Ressler's was all business. His voice felt like someone turning on halogen lights on in a day spa. She hesitated. "Keen, I can hear you thinking about lying to me right now."

"I'm not; it's just a strange question. Of course he's with me, why?" she said, sounding unintentionally defensive. She felt the car slow just slightly as Red had clearly begun eavesdropping.

"Because we've got evidence that links him to Diane Fowler's murder. Don't say anything. If he's near you, we can't have him thinking we know anything. If he thinks we're on to him he'll run."

"Don't be ridiculous. Have you forgotten that he has an FBI agent with him?"

"Does he, Keen? Or is he traveling with an associate?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It's supposed to mean that he murdered Diane Fowler and then, in less than twelve hours, he's on a plane with you to a foreign country. You weren't suspicious? How in the hell did you even pass that by Cooper for approval?"

"We left before I, or anyone else for that matter, knew that she was missing."

"You expect me to believe that, Keen?"

"I expect you to trust me, Ressler. We're headed out of here tonight. We will get this straightened out and I will call you before we take off."

"I don't think you get the urgency here, Keen. I'm calling to warn you, you don't have until tonight. You're with a murder suspect and you're supposed to be in Seattle. Cooper has eyes there, he's trying to find you. I've assured him that you're there but we're having trouble picking up a consistent signal. I can't put him off much longer. Get to Seattle as soon as you can before he starts asking more questions."

She hung up.

"So I take it they are accusing me of killing Diane," Red said, before she could speak. He sounded decidedly unaffected. "I see someone must have cleared the hallways of banana peels. Impressive… and in record time!"

Before she was able to figure out why, his tone sparked an itch of anger that traveled through her spine. She began to rub the palm of her hand, kneading her raised white scar, almost too preoccupied to realize that they had arrived back at the bed and breakfast. Worrying her scar until the skin around it burned, she followed him to his nearly untouched room and closed the door behind them.

"You need to get me to Seattle," she said, pointedly. His eyes trained on her nervous tic and he reached out to calm her hands. She pulled them away.

"What is this about, Lizzie?" he said in his soft, hypnotic growl.

"What's this _about_? Cooper is looking for us. If I don't get there soon, my job is over. I realize you had your reasons for killing Diane, but now that they have figured out you did it, they are wondering why you insisted on leaving with me. They are searching Seattle for us. I'm probably going to be fired."

"It's time that you start assessing whether or not that's really the end of the world for you."

Anger crept up her spine and simmered under her cheeks. She was sick of his constant arrogance, always speaking to her as though he knew more about herself that she did. He seemed to her, even still, exactly the kind of person who would tell someone they just met that their entire life was a lie. She had felt his affection for her almost immediately, but it was consistently at odds with the way he seemed to speak to her in riddles.

"I devoted my life to this job, Red. You have no idea what I've lost because of it, do you? I lost my marriage. I lost my chance to be a mother."

"You did not _lose_ your marriage; you had a weak man leave you. He wanted to turn you into a housewife for his own reasons. And then, like a child, he took his ball and went home when he realized that you weren't going to be poured into his mold. And you have not lost the chance to become a mother, that choice is yours to make for years to come, but you know that you were not doing anyone any favors by adopting a child with Tom, least of whom an innocent baby." His eyes were locked on hers, unwavering. "You have made choices Lizzie, and you made the right ones."

"You're right, I make my choices. I made a choice to devote my life to law enforcement, to helping people."

"What is with you Americans thinking that law enforcement and helping people are synonymous. I can assure you they are not. Do you assume that everyone you meet with a badge is someone whom you can trust? Surely you know better than that by now."

"I'm sorry, but Quantico doesn't tend to buddy you up with an international criminal in order to catch other criminals. They tend to just hand you a badge and a gun and tell you to do the job they trained you to do, Red." She heard his sarcastic, acerbic tone starting to wear off on her. "I know we've taken down a lot of high level criminals together, but this is new territory for me. You have to realize that I am used to playing by the rules. I don't know how to work the FBI like you do, so the thought of Cooper scouring an entire city for me makes me nervous."

"You have to trust me," he said, defiantly.

"This time, _you_ trust _me_," she said, growing tired of being talked to like a child. "This issue can be dealt with, but it won't happen with us halfway across the world. You know it. I know it."

He watched her for a moment, and she was careful not to waver under his stare. She held firm, her hands on her hips, shoulders squared.

"Alright, I'll move up our takeoff time. It takes about an hour to get the plane ready for that long a flight, and we may have to make a stop about halfway," he said, getting out his phone. "You're right, I suppose our vacation has lasted long enough, and it's time to face the music."

Agreeing with her seemed effortless. It resulted in none of the pride preservation or eye rolling that Tom had resorted to when she was able to get him to see her way of thinking, when so rarely that had happened. Hearing Red merely say the words "_you're right_" softened the edges of her angst and ire.

"I wish we didn't have to leave," she said, relaxing her body as he typed a hasty message. "But a certain someone just had to kill a government official before we left." She hoped her tone was light, smiling at him to ease the tension.

Red smiled, putting his phone down. He leaned back against the headboard and motioned for her to sit next to him. After the intensity of the past few minutes of conversation, she felt herself longing to reestablish the bond they had foraged on this trip but had not yet discussed. Instead of sitting next to him, she approached his side of the bed and watched his eyes widen as she got near. She swung her leg over him and straddled his lap, putting her arms around his neck. She put her cheek against his, dragging it across the light stubble, letting it scratch her skin. She lowered herself onto his lap and heard him groan softly.

"Thank you for bringing me here," she said.

"It was my pleasure."

She hovered her lips above his, intentionally and painfully stopping before touching them to hers. His eyes fluttered closed, his lips parting in anticipation. She drank in the feeling, the way he looked in that instant. The light from the window highlighted the features of his face, handsome and unique, each to be committed to memory. Captured just as they looked right now, in this light, in this moment. The first time his lust for her was so plain to see.

"Why me, Raymond?" she whispered. His name felt strange in her mouth, but as soon as she said it she felt him relax under her. When his eyes met hers they were calm and adoring but the heartbeat under her fingers, at his neck, was wild. She licked her lips, grazing the tip of her tongue against his bottom lip. She was so close she could almost feel the slick softness of him against her. Taste the warmth of his mouth.

"Because Agent Ressler won't let me touch his thigh in the car," Red said, using the last of his composure to chide her.

"Very funny," she said, letting her lips graze his just a little, inching away as she saw his flex in an attempt to get near enough to kiss her. His breath quickened. "Tell me why you can't seem to leave me alone."

"Because you fascinate me," he said, barely making noise as he spoke.

"That's the way children feel about zoo animals. Try again." She brought her lips to his ear. He chuckled a bit, taking back the upper hand.

"You challenge me."

"Crossword puzzles challenge you."

He paused, his eyes becoming thoughtful and distant. They narrowed as if he were trying to search the room for words that weren't coming to him.

"You feel… like home," he said, his voice cracking faintly. "The moment I met you, something about you reminded me what it's like to feel comfortable in the presence of another person. It made me feel human. I can't explain it but you tap into something vital in me that I haven't accessed in years. It just feels like arriving home, seeing your face."

She had anticipated him telling her that she was beautiful; maybe even going so far as to flatter her about her intelligence or her wit. She didn't expect him to give such a thoughtful answer to her playful question. She felt tears welling in her eyes and she buried her face in his neck, inhaling the scent unique to him. It was pine and honey and iron.

"I don't know what to say," she stammered.

"You'll figure out what you want to say when the time is right."

She kissed him softly, hoping to convey what she wasn't able to put into words. She brought her hands to the buttons of her shirt and popped them out one at a time, fumbling through her adrenaline. He was being polite, touching only her face as she ran her tongue across his.

"Don't act like you're shy," she said, noticing that his eyes looked feral and wild.

"You're serving me an appetizer for a meal that I don't have time to eat," he said, running his hand over her bare stomach, making her muscles jump under his touch. He dragged his fingertips down her sides, sending a pleasant shiver down her body.

"Come on…" she said, leaning down to bite his lip playfully. She felt his hand touch her chest and she smiled victoriously, only to feel him gently push her back, his palm warm against her sternum.

"We have a plane to catch," he said, smiling. He gave her one last, achingly tender kiss before she could be convinced to move. "Let's go."


	10. Chapter 10

There are tourist activities and then there are _tourist_ activities.

Liz tried as hard as she could to make it look like she was doing anything except taking a picture of herself in front of the Pike Place Market – proof for Ressler that she was finally where the FBI thought she was. Her fingers slipped and slid over the screen of her phone, gaining no purchase while trying to activate the capture icon. _Shit_ she muttered, running the screen over the front of her coat in an attempt to dry it off. It was just enough to give her the opportunity to catch a picture of herself looking unprepared and thoroughly soaked in front of the neon Public Market sign.

As she hit send, she received an almost immediate phone call; just as she had anticipated.

"You in Seattle, Keen?" Ressler asked.

"No I'm at the Pike Place Market in Istanbul, Agent Obvious."

"Reddington's rubbing off on you. I don't like it." She had to suppress an amused snort at his choice of words. _Oh you have no idea_.

"We're in Seattle, let Aram know that he can unscramble the tracking chips. Red said his associate should be making contact within the next 24 hours and we'll have some more information."

"Cooper wants to talk to you," he said. "And fix your hair. You're in public; you look like a drowned rat." Before she could find the words to retort, she heard Cooper's voice.

"Keen? Are you in Seattle?"

"Yes, sir. Still here. Reddington has been following up on a few leads and one is supposed to get in contact with us tonight. He's remaining pretty tight lipped but evidently the guy he's going after is a high level assassin. The guy has multiple targets at the state department. He's notorious for taking out government agents that get close to his organization – they only refer to him as The Closer."

"Gotta real name on him?"

"No, sir. Once we get something resembling an ID, I'll be giving Aram a call."

"Sounds good, Keen. Reddington giving you any trouble?"

"No sir." She froze.

"We have reason to believe that he had something to do with Diane Fowler's disappearance. I don't suppose he's made mention of anything having to do with her?"

"No. Ressler informed me about her disappearance, I haven't mentioned it to Reddington since it sounds like he will be questioned. Honestly it sounds like it might be connected to the guy he's looking for if this guy goes after government officials. I'll see what I can flesh out."

"Good thinking Keen. In the meantime play it cool with Reddington, we want him in the dark until he returns. Check in with Ressler as soon as possible when you find anything. Until I get a distress signal from you or some concrete evidence on Reddington, I'm letting you run with this one."

After ending the call, she gulped back the creeping unease she had always felt when she lied to anyone, let alone her boss. Calling in sick before she worked for the FBI was hard enough – she didn't like the mere idea of anyone thinking that she might be lying, even when she wasn't. _Once you lie, kid, you give up your integrity. And integrity is everything in this world._ She felt Sam's words ringing in her head. Silently she responded, _I'm playing the long game Dad. Just watch._

She had been out for the better part of the afternoon, leaving Red to sleep back at the hotel. She had gotten off the plane ready to see the sights and explore, but she had noticed how exhausted he'd looked in the cab. Even though traveling with him had been the experience of a lifetime, she was grateful for a little time to herself. He had rolled his eyes at her affectionately as she left the suite, telling him over her shoulder that naps were "for children and old people." She swore she could hear him snoring softly by the time she closed the door behind her. He'd likely been asleep for a full eight hours by now.

She ducked under an awning to give her hands a rest from the weight of her bags. There were books. And then there were more books. There was the box of chocolate covered figs. And a deep purple Ferragamo necktie for Red, the price of which had made her feel a little short of breath at the register. She had seen the market, been to museums and done more shopping than she was used to. She skipped the Space Needle after getting close to the entrance, looking up and immediately deciding against it. There was no need to brave her fear of heights twice in one week.

The rain dripped down her face, cold and insistent, and she flipped up her hood; she was ready for a hot shower. And if she was being honest, she found herself missing Red. Almost as soon as the thought of him entered her mind, his number lit up the screen of her phone. Still _Nick's Pizza._

"You finally woke up I see," she said playfully as she started making her way back to the hotel. The cobblestones were slick under her shoes.

"I woke up to a phone call from my associate. I'm going to go meet with him briefly, I'll meet you back at the hotel in about an hour."

"Hold that thought, I'm half a block away."

"I think it will be less complicated if I go by myself, less to explain that way. I'll handle what's left to be handled and see you for dinner." He sounded pinched and dismissive.

"Am I on speakerphone?" Liz asked, wondering if his tone was changed by his proximity to the mouthpiece.

"Yes, I'm trying to straighten my tie," he said.

"Hang on two seconds and I'll help you, I'm going inside the lobby right now."

"Lizzie-" he said before she heard the telltale beeping of a dropped call.

_Someday I'm going to teach him how to use that damn phone, _Liz thought, fumbling for her card key as she pressed the elevator button for the ninth floor. She felt a strange itch that she hadn't felt in years. Picturing him fussing with his tie in front of the mirror was enough to create a vivid image, one that evoked a memory of him that jolted through all of her senses. She felt a delicate, creeping shiver crawl over her skin as she grew giddy and impatient to be near him. The floor number indicators crept by slowly, taunting her.

_Five… Six… Seven._

She could almost see his face now, smell his aftershave. She felt a thousand tiny fluttering heartbeats flicker in her veins. Her heart pounded hard in her chest, sending a bass percussion of whooshing blood to her ears. _Thrum. Thrum. Thrum. _She ran her fingers through her hair, smoothing what she could out of the tangled snarls of windblown strands.

_Eight._

She forgot to breathe for a moment as she realized that she hadn't felt this way since she was a teenager. It wasn't love; at least it wasn't yet. She remembered this feeling when she dated a boy in high school. He would sneak out of his classes early and wait for her outside her home room just to carry her books to her next class. She remembered craning her neck every day at 1:45pm to check the windows leading out to the fluorescently lit hallway, wondering if he would still be there. It was like catching a firefly in a jar. It triggered that human instinct to keep checking for the things you love to make sure they're still there. That they're real. That they are still yours. That they hadn't suffocated under the weight of your adoration.

_Nine._

_Bing._

The door was cracked. He had left it open for her, since she had called to say that she was on her way up. She nudged the door open with her shoulder, her bags tangling and twisting around the door frame and her legs.

"Elizabeth?" she heard him say from somewhere around the corner.

_Elizabeth. When the hell has he ever called me Elizabeth._

Her body reacted without a conscious thought ever entering her mind. With her mind blank, she felt the blood chill in her veins. Flight gave way to fight, the way it always had with her and her fingernails dug into her palms. Her hands cramped tightly into fists. _Wrists straight, Butterball. A sloppy punch will break your hand._

She turned the corner to find Red standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, his arms hanging at his sides. At the sight of her, his face fell – pressing her anxious heart tight against her throat. Something was wrong. She opened her mouth to ask a question… she was sure that's what she intended to do. But she would never be quite sure that she had a question at the ready. Because before she spared the breath to say a word, there was movement behind him. She remembered the way his eyes closed in defeat as she kept hers trained on him for any sign of communication. She was sure that she would never forget the pain etched on his face as long as she lived. He was not scared. He had failed.

Failed just this once to protect her. To protect himself.

His eyes flickered with a silent apology. It wasn't the comforting ghost of that sacrificial smile, the one he had given her when he had come out of the box at gunpoint just weeks earlier. The only similarity between that look and this one was the undercurrent of a goodbye.

A face both foreign and familiar appeared from behind him. The sickening metallic click of a gun safety deactivating heralding the reveal she knew that he had been planning.

"…Tom?"

**[Author's Note]**

**Don't fret, kids. Next update coming very soon. Gotta give you some salt with all this sweet. There will be a payoff I promise you. **


	11. Chapter 11

Liz resisted the urge to reach for her gun, trying to access the reflexes she had polished while she was working with the Mobile Psych unit. She had taken lead on only one hostage negotiation and it had been over relatively quickly. The hostage taker cracked under the pressure of flashing police lights and had walked out nearly immediately, his face lit up red and blue as he was tucked into the patrol unit. She remembered everyone on the crew telling her that not all of these cases were going to be that easy. You had to drill yourself constantly to be calm enough under pressure to be effective. She remembered feeling animatronic in those drills – sticking to the script but making sure they knew that they were talking to a human. The human element, while important, so often had to be rehearsed.

The man with the gun to Red's head was aware that she knew those things.

_Firm but calm. Deep breaths. Don't raise your voice. Don't change your tone. _

"Tom, tell me what's going on."

"What's going on is I am leaving here with Reddington. My preference is alive, but I'm more than happy with dead," his voice was cold and modulated. There was no trace of the man she knew. She had fallen in love with those puppy dog eyes once, years ago after he had worn her down with his insistent but benign advances. She remembered with bitterness and regret the times when she told herself that he was the safe bet. That she couldn't go wrong marrying the endearing school teacher with the glasses. She wasn't sure if it was the gun in his hands, but his eyes were clouded over now. He was feral, an unfeeling drone on a mission. She knew from experience that there were few things more dangerous.

She reminded herself not to steal a glance at Red though she was desperate to meet his eyes, to communicate in any way she could manage, even if it was to silently let him know that everything was going to be OK. She wasn't sure of that at all, however. More than anything, she did not want to witness the look in his eye that had been there moments earlier. From the few times that she had seen a situation like this turn bad, she knew that watching someone's eyes as their last thoughts turned desperate was worse than witnessing the last breaths themselves. Death was quiet and easy, over seconds before a body itself really dies. It was the closing of the eyes, the furrowing of the brow. That's when life ends. It ends when you give up for the last time. She couldn't watch his eyes giving up. She couldn't watch his last breath.

She knew she would have to act well before then.

"I can't let you leave with him, Tom. Just tell me why you're here and I can help you," she said, varying her tone in order to sound casual yet earnest. Friendly but clinical. She had to let him see her as his wife, not a trained hostage negotiator.

"You don't seem to understand who has the power here," he said, nodding toward the gun in his hand, still held to Red's head. "You can let me leave with him and _I_ will let _you_ go. I deliver him and then we can disappear and you go back to your desk job. Then life goes back to the way it was. But if I tell you the truth, all that goes away."

"Tom, you know that if you're in trouble or if you're caught up in something, I can help you. I have the means to get you out of this, just tell me what we're up against and I can pull the strings. This doesn't have to result in anyone getting hurt."

"Oh, but you see, Liz, it does," he said, using his free hand to take off his glasses, casting them to the floor with a shattering tinkle, never taking his eyes off her. He was angry now. Either he never needed the glasses to begin with or he was so sure that this was going to turn violent that he didn't care about them breaking. She watched as his eyes trained on her, re-focused. He had never needed the glasses, they were obviously bait. A prop to make him seem subtly less intimidating.

"Tell me why you feel like you need to hurt someone here, Tom. Tell me what you want."

"You mean to tell me you haven't figured it out yet? That Romeo over here hasn't told you about what I am and what it is I do? How exactly I came into your life? Don't tell me Red, you've learned to play the long game after all these years?"

She sensed no movement from Red out of the corner of her eye, careful still to never break eye contact with Tom. _If the hostage taker is still relatively calm and the hostage is uninjured, ignore the hostage as much as possible. Take the focus off the circumstances and focus on the task at hand_.

Tom's gun dug hard against Red's temple, bending his neck uncomfortably to the side and Liz had to stop herself from reaching for her holstered gun a second time. For one irrational moment she let her brain tell her that Tom couldn't shoot anyone, that he was a school teacher. _Time to re-evaluate Liz. This isn't the man you thought he was. You'll get answers later but right now, just get the gun away from him._

"He didn't tell me anything. He's never mentioned anything about you."

"And yet somehow he lured you half a world away from me." He laughed coolly, obviously not believing her words.

"It was work that took me away, not him." She took the gamble that Tom didn't know why she had been there. It was the most comfortable lie she had ever told – as opposed to the deception of the last few days, this lie rolled off her tongue to the point where she almost believed it herself.

"Are you that stupid, Liz? You think his involvement with you has ever been about work? He's been using you as a life jacket! The entire FBI is his shield from justice, from having to atone for the all the people he had murdered, the war crimes he committed. He's notorious criminal for a reason, Liz, or have you forgotten that now that you think that he likes you. The people I work for want to see him pay, they were lured in at one point by this same scheme. I mean, have you forgotten what side of the law you're on?"

The accusation that she was stupid, that she was on the wrong side of the law angered her. Her whole life she had wanted to be a police officer. She wanted to be the person who helped people, the knight in shining armor. Her brain had never been tainted by the idea that she was supposed to want to be a wife or a ballerina or a desk clerk, Sam had seen to that. She had elbowed through the men at Quantico and into prestigious positions and she had fought hard to get there. She was still fighting. It angered her that Tom thought that he was the hero here; it was she who was the hero. Red hadn't changed anything about those particular facts of her life; he had provided her the tools that allowed her to do those things well.

"Point your gun at me, Tom," she said, her voice quivering only for a moment. Her throat closed around the words and the anger boiling in her threatened to shake her very bones. There was movement from Red that she didn't have time to register; she only knew that he was subtly flailing at the idea of her sacrificing herself for him. She stuck out her chin and stood as tall as she could, mentally throwing the script out the window. This was personal. "Do it, shoot me. Because he and I are partners. He has taken down some of the most notorious threats to national security by working with the FBI and my educated guess is that you must be one of them. And that's why you're here. So do it. You're so sure you're on the right side of the law, shoot me. Because whatever side he's on, Tom, I'm on that side with him. So if you shoot him, you're going to have me to deal with anyway."

Tom blinked. With the power vacuum she had just created, he was forced to listen to her. She knew that he had counted on every tactical aspect of this mission – from marrying her two years ago to letting her watch Red die. He'd banked on all of it except her converting allegiance. He would have been operating under the assumption that she had only fallen for Red's charm, but not that she would sympathize with his cause. As he stood blinking at her, processing her words, she didn't hesitate to knock him back on his heels one more time. The final death blow to his confidence.

"I'll put it in terms you can understand. You shoot him, I'll take you out before you can reload. If you shoot me, if you take your eyes off him for one second, he's going to do what he does best and make you wish you were never born. The third and best option is that you can put the gun down and I put you behind bars. The choice is yours, but no matter which way you cut it – if you pull that trigger, you leave here in a body bag."

She sensed Red's movement but stayed focused. She heard the loud racket of him kicking over the metal trashcan to his side. In the time it took Tom to move his eyes from Liz's face instinctually to the floor she reached for her gun.

The Mozambique Drill was not always her strong suit in the training academy. She struggled trying to remember where to aim first: two to the chest, assess the damage, then one to the head.

Later, she would remember the blood. The sickening thud of Tom's body hitting the ground. She would remember Red's face turning toward her, but the room turning to black before she could read his expression. It would be explained as many things: exhaustion, shock, sensory overload. Maybe it was all three. But in the moment, Liz remembered only the room turning black. And the repeating phrase in her head: _I'll wake up when I'm ready. I'll wake up when I'm ready. I'll wake up when I'm ready._

She woke up on the ground, Mr. Kaplan hovering over her. Her exquisitely wrinkled face was furrowed in worry from over the top of her. She heard water running in another room.

"She's awake, Red. Be a dear and come get her off the floor so I can get to work."


End file.
